


Blackmail

by lovelunarchron



Category: Lunar Chronicles - Marissa Meyer
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-05-02 05:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 61,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5235593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelunarchron/pseuds/lovelunarchron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might have happened if Cress had used her D-Comm chip to blackmail a hotshot spaceship pilot instead of trying to save the Emperor, as Thorne suggested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A long while later, Thorne finally spoke. "If I'd been in your position, and I had only one D-COMM chip that I could use to communicate with Earth, I would have found some dirt on a hotshot spaceship pilot and blackmailed him into coming to get me out of that satellite, rather than trying to rescue the emperor." - Cress by Marissa Meyer, pg. 155

She'd done it. She had found a way to contact someone. Granted, it had taken more than six years, but the opportunity had finally presented itself.

Cress was going to escape the satellite.

The D-Comm chip that Mistress Sybil had asked her to configure for an unknown purpose was not quite complete, at least not in the way that her Mistress wanted it to be. But if Sybil Mira knew how to configure a D-Comm chip designed to spy on Earthens, Cress wouldn't have it in her possession right now. And she wouldn't have been able to change the coding to allow her to trick the D-Comm chip into thinking it was connected to a portscreen instead of its twin chip. A portscreen that happened to belong to an American fugitive by the name of Carswell Thorne.

He was going to be her ticket out of here.

This had been the hardest part, really—figuring out whose portscreen to connect to the signal emitted by the chip. Originally, she thought of trying to send a message to Emperor Rikan or Prince Kai. She knew though, from her own handiwork, that any communication with him would be watched by the thaumaturges and perhaps even the Lunar Queen herself. It was also unlikely that an Emperor would believe, let alone entertain an audience with, a common Lunar shell. Plus, she needed to get out of the satellite before Sybil could take control of the D-Comm chip again.

Without much knowledge of possible allies on Earth, Carswell Thorne had been a fairly easy choice, in the end. He was a fugitive of several Earthen nations because he was in possession of a stolen spaceship, which was exactly the type of vessel she needed in order to escape. He'd made news lately because people claimed that he had been spotted in the Eastern Commonwealth under a false identity. She knew that they were right—he was still there. In fact, she knew his exact location. She was surprised that he hadn't left the Eastern Commonwealth yet. Maybe he was trying to confuse them by staying exactly where was most obvious. Or, he was just an idiot. Cress was more convinced of the latter.

After studying his files very carefully, she'd tracked down where his real identity chip had gone off the grid. Then she'd followed the purchases and trading of black market ID chips that fit within the timeline and coordinates, as well as large money transactions and robberies that were characteristic to him. Then, once she'd figured out what his new identity was, she had linked it to his newest portscreen purchase. And she'd been reading his comms ever since.

Frankly, it had almost been too easy. If she ever made it out of the satellite, she should probably get a job in law enforcement, if not the spy business. Hacking was fun, and the Earthen militaries should really take advantage of her skills. She had always imagined herself winning awards for her talents, but it was hard to do that while trapped in orbit.

She needed to get Carswell's attention before he went and got himself thrown in jail. He was too obvious about what he stole, too clumsy in covering his tracks, and seemingly too happy to be infamous. Nobody could avoid getting caught forever. And she had caught him indeed. But instead of turning him in, he was going to come get her.

First, he needed some incentive.

Criminals were all the same—especially those who thought they were hotshots. They took and they took, and they always looked out for what was in it for them. He would never come get her just out of the goodness of her heart. He wouldn't take pity on a Lunar shell.

But he would respond to the need for self-preservation. Yes, she would see to that.

Carswell Thorne, she thought, you are _mine_.

* * *

Thorne sat in his favorite restaurant in New Beijing, enjoying the latest variety of their famous pork buns, when he heard the ping of his portscreen go off.

Strange. No one contacted him. In fact, no one should even be _able_ to contact him—he had seen to that. He needed to be the only one to initiate comms, after all, in order for no one to be able to trace him. Frowning, he hooked the port off his belt and stared down at the screen suspiciously.

_Incoming Comm from Damsel in Distress_

Damsel in Distress? What kind of code was that? He ignored it.

After a few minutes, it pinged again, displaying the same message. Then again, a third time. Curiosity getting the best of him, he finally accepted.

Propping the port on the table, he was surprised to find himself looking at a close-up of a full face mask covering everything except a woman's eyes. She would have looked menacing, except that she had these twinkling blue eyes that practically reflected off of the small freckles on her nose. He could also see that her face mask had been made by tying together scraps of clothing.

Not a professional, then. And likely, not threatening. He had a good intuition about this sort of thing.

"Good afternoon." Her voice came out garbled and low, almost like a man's voice, and he knew she was using some sort of net voice scrambler. A part of him wanted to hang up right then and there, because honestly, could this situation lead to anything positive? But something about her eyes were pinning his own to the screen, peaking his interest to hear why she was contacting him.

"I know who you are," she said. He raised an eyebrow. He was pretty sure his disguise was quite excellent, considering that no one in the entire restaurant had even given him a second glance. Still, he moved his hand to disconnect the comm.

"Wait! Don't hang up," she said quickly, the scrambled voice elevating a notch, "because I have a proposition for you."

"And what proposition might that be?"

"I need you to complete a…mission…for me."

"Is this some sort of joke?"

Her eyes widened. "Please can you just listen to me?"

He squinted at her. "You have two minutes."

"Your mission will be to fly to the coordinates that I will send to your port in the next five minutes. There, you will need to retrieve and deliver a package."

"Listen, sweetheart, I don't have time for any of this nonsense. I have my own agenda, and my own 'missions' that I need to accomplish before I start doing anyone else's."

"That's what I thought you would say. I did say that this was a proposition, though, and I do have something to offer in return for your help on this mission."

Now they were talking. He was a business man, after all. And he could be bought for a very large amount of money.

"In return, I will not call the Eastern Commonwealth military and reveal that you are actually the wanted fugitive Carswell Thorne, that your new ID number is 8511366, that you are planning a jewelry heist, and that you are staying in the Taj Suite of the adjacent hotel to your current coordinates, which are 39.9077° N, 116.4040° E."

Thorne's anger threatened to bubble to the surface, but he managed to maintain a complacent face. "Sounds to me like blackmail."

She ignored his comment. "I'm an expert hacker. And believe me, if I was able to find you the first time, I will be able to find you a second time—so don't think about running. It'll be faster and less expensive for you to complete your mission than for you to go through all that trouble in creating a new identity."

When he didn't say anything, her eyes narrowed. "You have twenty-four hours to complete this mission. You will receive more details when you arrive at the coordinates I specify. Oh, and I'll be tracking you."

The screen went black. He fiddled with the port for a moment, and then pulled up a net search. Sure enough, she had his exact coordinates. Cursing, a thousand thoughts went through his mind at once. He _could_ run. He was good at running. But she had a point. She had found him, she knew who he was, and if she could trace him, he wouldn't get very far.

His portscreen pinged again and as promised, new coordinates had arrived from Damsel in Distress. Checking them, he stared at his screen and double-checked the map, confused. These coordinates were not on Earth, but rather a far ways above the European Federation, not quite on the border of Lunar territory. It was a good thing he had a spaceship. Then again, she probably already knew that.

He signaled the waiter to pay for his meal, and stuffed a few pork buns in a box to take back to the hotel. He had to contact the hanger and pack his things, because apparently, he was going on a road trip.

To space.


	2. Chapter 2

Taking the Rampion out of the hanger had been a risk. Alec hadn't been thrilled about the early collection either, and it had cost him extra univs to do so. By the time he had been able to board his ship, the masked woman was high up on his list of annoyances.

The trip into space had been mostly uneventful, though maneuvering the Rampion was always a bit of a challenge. He had an auto-control system, luckily, which helped him tremendously. Thorne had never wanted to be a pilot—only a captain—so there was no point in working to perfect his flying skills. Much to his dismay, he was growing more irritated by the minute about the collection of this supposed "package." He had stolen many things, but whenever he did, he was in complete control of the situation—and he knew what he was taking. This time, going into unknown circumstances, he felt like he could easily be walking into a trap. But if this woman wanted to turn him in, she could have just called the local police as she had said.

So why hadn't she?

Maybe he needed to actually _steal_ a package, rather than just collect it. That would explain why she was in need of his help specifically. Whatever her end game was, he was not happy about this deviation from his original plans. He would need to figure out a way to end this.

As he approached the coordinates he had programmed as the final destination, the Rampion's sensors alerted him of an object not far in the distance. It was a satellite, the system told him, and he squinted out the window to get a better look. A satellite? There was no way he was getting the Rampion to land on a small satellite. He would have to take one of the podships. This was not a good thing.

His portscreen chimed. _Enter through the loading dock. Air is pressurized. Package is through corridor, in main room. More instructions to follow._

She sure was good at tracking him. He contemplated taking his gun with him, but didn't know if this would raise suspicions in case he ran into a guard of some sort. Instead, he settled for his knife, which he hid away in a fold of his back pocket.

Thorne set the auto-control to remain in a circular trajectory not far from the satellite while he was gone. He reset the "Captain is King" password as he closed the door to the main cabin and sealed it off. Shakily, he entered the podship and managed to get it in the air. At least he only had a short distance to fly. As he clamped onto the loading dock of the satellite, he briefly contemplated taking off again. But he didn't know where he could go if this woman could find him so easily. He would just have to deal with this situation, and deal with it swiftly. Cursing, he smoothed his hair back and took a step onto the satellite.

He crept up the hallway, pressing himself against the wall and calculating the time it would take him to run back to the safety of his podship. He reached the entryway in no time, and slowly pushed the knob on the door. It slid open with a hiss, and he hesitated only a moment before exhaling and taking a step inside. He kept one hand on his back pocket, ready to grab his knife, just in case. But he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. It looked like someone's bedroom had been crammed into an office space. About a dozen invisi-screens lined the walls, most with intricate coding or scrolling text running over it. Only a few were blank. The bed looked like it had been recently made—but also recently slept in. His instincts put him on higher alert.

He checked his portscreen, but no message had arrived. Where was the package? What was he supposed to steal? Just then, the door behind him hissed shut, and he jumped around, only to see a black flash whir past him to one of the screens. Two seconds later, an airy computer voice declared that the doors had been locked. He backed against the wall in a defensive stance and pulled out his knife as the person turned to face him.

He saw familiar blue eyes peak out through a black makeshift face mask. It was the woman. What was she doing here? She could have gotten the package herself if she were here already. His heart sank slightly as he realized that it really _had_ been a trap. He quickly replaced his disappointment with anger. She was just a liability; one that needed to be taken care of.

His mind began calculating a plan as they stared at each other. She hadn't looked too dangerous on the screen, despite her efforts, but in person she looked quite unbalanced. She wore her face mask, which covered part of her neck as well, but he could see an unnaturally long, blond braid sticking out the back. A black sheet was tied around her body loosely, but he could see that she was curiously wearing a dress underneath it, because the sleeves—not black—stuck out over the top of the sheet. She had no shoes on.

She looked like a whole lot of crazy. And here he was, trapped in a locked room with a possibly unstable person who was blackmailing him and knew his true identity. Not an optimal situation.

He did see one advantage, however. Despite her attempts to cover her body, he could see plainly that the woman was tiny. While she was very short and petite, he was six feet tall, broad, and had enough muscles to make the ladies swoon. He could easily overpower her. And considering that there was no way he was going to risk staying locked in this room, he didn't have much other choice.

"Well hello again," he said in his most charming, relaxing voice. "You startled me, but I'm glad that we're finally able to meet in person." He stashed his knife away, hoping that it would show her that he didn't have any bad intentions. Plus, he was secretly thankful that he would likely not need to use it. He took a few steps toward her. She didn't move.

He put on his most swoon-worthy smile. "I guess it's time for me to pick up that package, right?"

"Uh—yes. Hello Mr. Thorne," she replied, looking him up and down. "It's...almost ready." Her voice was no longer scrambled, but instead rather high-pitched and young-sounding.

"Excellent," said Thorne, as he smiled at her encouragingly. Her body position began to relax and she gave him a small smile. It was too easy. She was probably already falling for him.

"I'll just—"

But she didn't have time to finish her sentence before Thorne had lunged for her. The woman let out a scream and threw her hands up protectively as he grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her into the wall. She tried to push him away but he didn't budge. Feeling triumphant, he allowed his signature smirk to return to his face, making sure she got a good look at the way he was—almost effortlessly—able to hold her in place.

"Thought you could trick me, did you? I don't know what twisted game you're playing, lady, but as you can see, I am going to be the one who leaves here victorious. I haven't even had to use my knife yet."

"Now," he said, narrowing his eyes, "you are going to unlock that door."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head vigorously.

"Open it!" he commanded, as she continued to struggle.

"No! I need your help."

"Trust me, you do _not_ want to be stuck in this room with me," he said menacingly, and held her in place more firmly as if to illustrate just how much stronger he was.

"I knew you wouldn't come if I told you the truth! I had to—to make you—force you to come! I'm sorry!"

Her voice sounded muffled beneath her face mask. He was just about to rip it off when a swift blow to his knee almost made his leg buckle. He recoiled, and the woman kicked him again, tripping him in the process so he landed hard on the ground. She began to run away from him, but he shot his hand out and grabbed her by the ankle, pulling her to the floor with him. She began flailing wildly, trying to punch anywhere that she could. Despite the shooting pain in his knee, he flipped them over so he was pinning her down with his body. She grunted at the sudden weight upon her and continued to flail her arms.

"There's…no…use…in struggling—" he grunted, trying to hold her still, "I'm a lot…stronger!" He got control of her forearms and pressed them to the floor.

He double-checked the position of his legs, and made sure that she would be unable to kick him again. To his satisfaction, she was now completely immobile. "Let's try that again, shall we?" he said, pushing her hands above her head until he was able to hold her wrists in place with just one of his hands. In one swift movement, he used his free hand to yank off the face mask.

Thorne gaped at her, not believing his eyes. It was just a girl. And a _pretty_ girl, at that. She was likely only a few years younger than he was.

He softened.

Maybe he had misread the situation. But this was definitely the same person who had made him come on this hoax mission, lured him into her bedroom and then locked them in. He frowned and tried to understand what would motivate someone like her to go through all that trouble. Was she part of his fan club? He peered into her blue eyes, deep as oceans, trying to read what was behind them. And, if he were honest with himself, he was kind of mesmerized by them now, just as he had been through the portscreen vid.

Until she started screaming.

It was a shrill, annoying scream that set his nerves on edge. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't think.

"Stop it!" he yelled back. She just continued screaming, bordering hysteria.

"Please!" he said desperately, "I can't think with all of this screaming!"

She spit in his face.

Exasperated, he did the first thing that came to mind: he grabbed her face mask with his free hand and shoved it in her mouth, gagging her. Then he wiped the spit off of his face with his sleeve. That shirt was now going to need washing. A sob choked out of her. The blue oceans he'd been captivated by only a moment before suddenly reached capacity as thick tears began pouring out of them and spilled down her cheeks. She dissolved into her tears; terror etched all over her features. When he felt her body begin to shake beneath his, realization dawned on him.

She was genuinely afraid of him. And him lying on top of her probably wasn't helping the situation.

"Aces! No, no…I'm not—I'm not going to hurt you!"

She continued to cry, and he felt slightly ashamed for having likely shown too much force in their struggle.

"I'm not going to hurt you if you don't try to hurt me," he amended, as he quickly rolled off of her, though he kept a firm grip on her wrists. He brought his knee to rest on her stomach so she was still pinned down. She was visibly scared, and he didn't want to make her feel even more uncomfortable, but he still didn't have any idea whether or not he could trust her. The sheet that she had tied around her body caught his eye. In their struggle, it had slipped down to her waist, revealing an elegant—if not overused—dress beneath.

"Can you sit up?" he asked, lifting his knee off of her. She didn't move—she just continued to cry. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he pulled the sheet out from under her anyway. He couldn't help noting how much more petite she was than he had first given her credit for. She couldn't be more than five feet tall. He used the sheet to tie her hands together firmly. Then he gently propped her up so that she was leaning against the wall and let her go. She slumped to the side, her chest heaving.

Once on his feet again, Thorne rubbed his tender knee. Then he straightened his collar and cleared his throat.

"Now, I'm sorry about this unfortunate turn of events," he said, trying to sound like a gentleman. "But this is necessary for a few minutes while I figure out what to do." He turned away from the girl. He didn't like that she was still crying and looking at him like he was a serial killer.

He tried to access the control to unlock the door, but he couldn't even figure out how to unlock the screensaver. Pacing, Thorne began talking to himself under his breath, trying to sort out different scenarios of what he could do with this girl. He'd been in tricky situations before. Tricky situations were his speciality. He could figure this out. "I could—no, that wouldn't work. Too risky. Or maybe—huh. Probably too messy. Better if I—"

He was getting nowhere. He noticed that the girl's sobs had died down, though, so he turned to look at her. She still looked slightly alarmed, but she also looked sad and hopeless. Her eyes were pleading. He fought down a pinch of guilt.

"Oh please, will you stop looking at me like that!"

The girl continued to stare at him.

"You brought this on yourself, you know," he said, feeling the need to defend himself for having bound and gagged a teenage girl. "This isn't normally part of my operation. May I remind you that _you_ contacted _me_! _You_ stalked me, _you_ told me to come here, _you_ blackmailed me."

He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "And frankly, I can't have people blackmailing me. I have things to do—money to make. It's bad for my business, and even worse for my reputation. And you know my real identity, which just complicates everything."

He laughed at the irony of the situation. "Blackmailing _Carswell Thorne_? Knowing who I really am, you should have known better. I certainly hope this wasn't your whole master plan."

As one single tear slid down her cheek, he realized that it probably _had_ been her whole plan. What in the name of spades had she been thinking? And more importantly, what did she want?

Her wants aside, he still needed to take care of a liability. And now he had that liability tied up and at his mercy, helpless—exactly where he wanted her.

Except he didn't want her to be at his mercy. The only chance to get rid of this threat to his livelihood was to get rid of her. Something in his sternum hitched at the thought.

He wasn't that type of criminal.

He squatted down in front of her and rested his hands on his knees to study her. "Look, I'm sorry if I scared you. But you—you scared me too. I'm going to remove this gag now and ask you a few questions, but you have to promise not to scream again or spit on me. And I promise I won't hurt you unless you try to hurt me."

She didn't nod or shake her head, but just continued to stare at him with those wide eyes. He sighed and removed her gag. Using the dry part, he wiped away some of the wetness that still soaked her cheeks. She flinched at his touch.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

He waited, but she didn't reply.

"That doesn't seem fair, you knowing so much about me and I don't even know your name, don't you think?"

No response.

"Okay, what's so important about this package then, that you had to contact me?"

No response.

He tried to be gentler. Maybe she really was slightly deranged. "There is no package is there?"

Nothing.

He was about to get back up when she let out a little squeak. "There is."

"Well, where is it?"

Her eyes widened again and then she fixed her gaze on the floor.

"Here."

"Hidden under the floorboards?"

"No," she said, drawing in a punctured breath. "It's me. I'm the…package."


	3. Chapter 3

Thorne cocked his head to one side. After staring at her for a few moments, he rocked back on his heels and sat down, continuing to rest his hands on his knees. This was clearly going to take awhile.

"You think I'm crazy."

Well, at least they were on the same page. "I daresay the thought has crossed my mind."

"I'm not."

"Well, that really cleared everything up, didn't it?" He knew being sarcastic wouldn't help, but she had already tried his patience a bit too much for one day.

"You're mean."

"Insulting me is not going to make me have any more pity on you."

Again with the eyes. He moved his gaze down to avoid her stare, and realized quickly that he was looking at the general vicinity of her chest. No, not a good place to be looking either. He focused on the wall behind her shoulder instead.

"I really am the package," she said firmly.

"Heard it. Can we get to the part where you explain _what in the name of spades_ that's supposed to mean?"

"I need you to get me out of this satellite and take me with you."

He forced himself to look at her, and to his dismay, she looked just as serious as she had a moment before. "Is that all? Well I'm really sorry to crush your dreams, but I'm not taking you anywhere."

"But…" she trailed off, her lip beginning to tremble. "But you're my only hope…"

"Well you certainly didn't pick the right guy, then, because I am the wrong person to put your hope in," he said dryly.

The girl's eyes widened again as some tears begin to spill out. Not the crying again! She looked around frantically—from him, to her screens, to the ceiling, to the door—anywhere and everywhere she could look. Then she began to talk to herself. First it was under her breath, but she grew louder the more she looked around.

"I am the daughter of royalty. I live on an island in the sea. Pirates have come. They have taken me aboard their ship and are holding me ransom. Yes—they will send word to my father about me. He will have the money to pay the ransom. But right now, I have to convince these pirates to let me go. I have to show them my worth. Convince them I can be part of their crew. I—I am the daughter of royalty."

Pirates? Royalty? What? Thorne watched her talk to herself and almost found it endearing. Then he remembered that he was still stuck in a locked room on a satellite. And he could now confirm that she was, in fact, crazy.

"Sure, sweetheart, you're the daughter of royalty. Can we get on with this then? What's it gonna take for you to stop stalking me?"

She snapped her attention back to him, hope lighting up her features. "Take me with you."

"Can't do it."

"Why not?"

Hmm, let's see. Because the only thing that was worse than having someone who knew his real identity was having to tote that someone around with him.

"I already told you this earlier. I can't have someone knowing my identity. And I have other things to attend to. I run a profitable business and have to worry about myself and myself alone."

"Mr. Thorne, _please_."

He sighed and looked down. He dragged his finger along the wood of the floorboard, making a circular shape. "If you want to leave the satellite so badly, why don't you just leave?"

"I'm a prisoner here. I can't leave."

Oh. "A prisoner? On a satellite? How long have you been a prisoner here?"

"Most of my life."

Thorne grimaced. He knew what it was like to feel trapped somewhere, with other people telling you what to do. He thought back to his realization that she didn't have a very well thought out plan with blackmailing him. But if she had been stuck here most of her life…she really must have been desperate.

"Most of your life? But…you have food, computers, communication capabilities…who's holding you prisoner?"

She gulped and averted her gaze. "Uhm, you probably haven't heard of them."

"So this is like a jail?"

"No, not really. I didn't actually commit a crime. I was born…different, and I was supposed to be killed. But then they realized I was good at hacking and spying and so they put me here to help them with their…missions."

"And now they wanted you to find me?"

"No! They don't know I contacted you. I manipulated a D-Comm chip to track you down. It's the first time I've ever been able to contact anyone. I thought…I thought you could help me since you had a spaceship. But I was wrong, I guess. You're just a criminal, and you don't care."

He pursed his lips and wrestled with his thoughts. She was stuck here. And she needed help. He really _was_ her best shot at getting out. He had quite the ethical dilemma in front of him. And if there was anything that Thorne was bad at it, it was making the right decision in a moral dilemma.

"By the way," she said. "The Eastern Commonwealth military was just about to catch you for the jewelry heist you were planning. And I really didn't tell them anything. You just didn't cover up your tracks enough."

"Well, I guess I can't go back to the Eastern Commonwealth then, can I?"

"Please," she said again, "take me with you. I won't be a burden. You can drop me off wherever you like. But we have to go _now_. I think if I calculated correctly, no one should be stopping by for at least a few more days, but you never know."

"Wait a minute, you lured me here with the possibility of someone catching us both? What kind of plan is this?"

"I—I watch a lot of net dramas. I've been focusing on spy dramas lately. I devised my plan based on one of them."

Thorne couldn't help chuckling at the poor girl. "Didn't your parents ever tell you not to believe the dramas? They're all fake."

"I never had any parents," she said matter-of-factly.

She was really loading on the guilt heavily. He didn't deal with guilt—pretty much ever. He made a decision, he went through with it, and he didn't dwell on the consequences. He certainly couldn't beat the system if he stopped to feel sorry for himself or other people he may have hurt in the process.

He pulled out his knife and held it up in front of her. To his surprise, this time she didn't flinch. "You know, I can make you do whatever I want. I'm the one who has the power here."

"You said you wouldn't hurt me."

"I don't want to hurt you, but if you keep up with this 'you have to take me with you' nonsense and don't open the door for me, I might not have any other choice."

This time she did flinch, but then she looked airily into space again and muttered, "he's just a pirate." She turned back to him. "Well go ahead then."

"Go ahead then, what?" he replied, not understanding her comment.

"Hurt me. It doesn't matter anymore. Because if I open that door and you leave me here, I'm already dead anyway. At least this way I'll die fast."

Thorne felt an uncomfortable churn in his stomach at her words. The dejected look on her face wasn't helping either. He knew he couldn't kill her. He didn't _want_ to kill her. He also couldn't get out of this satellite if she didn't cooperate, though. Maybe he really could threaten her a bit more, with force, just to see if she were bluffing. But deep down he knew that he wasn't that sort of person, especially not with a girl like this, and he wouldn't be able to go through with it. Especially not after what she'd just told him. This was not good.

He scratched his chin. "If I take you with me—but just to drop you off somewhere—I'll need you to make me a new ID chip. How do I know I can trust you—that you won't just track me again?"

"How do I know that if I unlock the door you won't just leave me here?"

"I guess you'll just have to trust me."

"Then you should probably trust me too."

They glared at each other for a moment, but then he forced himself to give her a carefree grin. "Alright then, let's get that door unlocked."

The girl looked at him hesitantly as he got to his feet. She slowly followed suit, her long braid trailing behind her. He followed her over to the computer, just to make sure she didn't do anything stupid. A part of him was worried that she would force the vents to emit some sort of poison. Thorne shook his head. He wasn't one to be paranoid.

She managed to type something despite still being bound. He still felt slightly bad for not releasing her, but he still couldn't quite get a solid grasp of this situation. Despite everything, it was better for him to remain with at least _some_ control. She didn't disappoint him, though, and after a few seconds, the airy voice returned and announced that the door was indeed, unlocked. He sauntered over to it quickly, and pushed the button. It opened. He turned back at the girl, who was now looking at him with her wide eyes again, and he hesitated.

She held out her arms. "Aren't you going to untie me now?"

"No," he said rather casually.

The girl looked like she was going to cry again. He walked over to her quickly before she could turn into a waterfall again. This was stressful enough without more tears. Best get this over with. In one grand swoop, he picked up the girl and slung her over his shoulders.

"Sorry sweetheart, I just don't think we've reached that stage in our relationship yet."


	4. Chapter 4

Cress despised Carswell Thorne.

She didn't think she could possibly like anyone less than him. Her disappointment with her choice of companion was weighing down on her so much that she could barely stand it. She was so angry that the first real Earthen she'd come in contact with was him. He had shattered every hopeful expectation she'd had for that planet. But it was her fault. After all, she'd contacted him—and now she had to suffer the consequences of her stupidity.

How he had mocked her attempt to blackmail him. She was sure he got joy at how pathetic she was. "Net dramas aren't real," he'd told her, laughing. Well, how was she supposed to know that? They were on every Earthen channel. They had Earthen people in them. They took place in Earthen nations. Why shouldn't it be real?

She knew criminals were supposed to be mean, ruthless, and dangerous. But somehow she hadn't even considered that she would end up bound and gagged with a man lying on top of her in any of the scenarios she'd fantasized when anticipating his arrival on the satellite. He should have seen her, realized that she was being held against her will, and swept her off her feet. Wasn't that what happened in all the net dramas too? Oh—of course. None of that was real. Criminals didn't become heroes, and heroes probably didn't save damsels in distress either. She bit her lip to keep from crying again. She'd cried so much already and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose control again. He probably already thought she was pathetic enough.

And now she sat shivering on the floor of the cockpit of a spaceship, handcuffed to a pole, tormented by her thoughts. All while Carswell Thorne flew them to stars knew where. He was a _terrible_ pilot. Another mistake she'd made. Their ride on the podship to reach the Rampion had been so terrifying that she hadn't even been able to enjoy being off of her satellite.

Not that she'd enjoyed a single moment of anything since Carswell Thorne had joined her. After he'd agreed to bring her to the Rampion, he'd picked her up like a rag doll and tried to carry her to his podship. She'd struggled and even tried to bite him, to which he set her on the ground angrily and threatened to gag her again if she didn't behave. When she hadn't responded, he'd pointed back to her room and said that he would also be more than happy to leave her behind. She knew, of course, that leaving with him was better than being stuck on the satellite for the rest of her life, but the thought of him touching her in any way, shape, or form made her feel sick. For some reason, he always got uncomfortable when she stared at him, so that's exactly what she did instead of answering him. Sure enough, he'd faltered a bit, but then shook his head and picked her up again. This time, she'd stayed still, even though she wished she could have bitten him again, hard.

She'd kept quiet on the ride back to the Rampion. She'd mocked him in her head while he muttered "Captain is King" as a password. She'd shot daggers at the back of his head when he put her over his shoulder again as they entered. And when he'd pulled out a pair of handcuffs from a crate that sat in the middle of the cargo bay, she'd slumped to the ground, feeling as defeated as she had when he'd originally gagged her.

"I don't understand why I have to wear these," she'd complained, trying to get him to look at her. He wouldn't respond. She thought he'd looked rather uncomfortable, though, for some reason, but knew that it was just for show when she saw him grab a gun and stick it in the holster around his belt. He was finally showing his true colors. He'd said he wouldn't hurt her, but everything about being on this ship now gave her a terrible feeling about the whole situation. She tried to call up a fantasy that would make her feel better, but nothing came to her.

After a while of sitting there in misery, a thought occurred to her.

"Mr. Thorne?"

He looked back at her from the controls. "It's just Thorne. Or Captain Thorne."

There was no way she was going to call him Captain. She knew his history. He was an ex-cadet. He probably used that title to trick women into thinking he was more desirable than he was. It was just another disgusting thing about him.

"Thorne it is. I need to alter some coding for the Rampion."

"I don't think so. She takes a lot of precise maneuvering and I can't risk an amateur bringing us down."

She tried to sound more confident. "One of my jobs in the satellite was to make sure that certain ships didn't get detected by satellite and radar. If you want us to stay hidden, then you have to let me alter some of the coding."

That got his attention. He got out of the pilot seat and squatted down in front of her, just as he had on the satellite. Thorne squinted at her. "Are you telling the truth?"

"I thought we went over this already," said Cress indignantly.

He fumbled for the key in his pocket and pulled it out. He leaned over her as he reached behind to unlock her handcuffs. His body was so close to hers that she momentarily felt herself tense up and could only think of when he was pressing her down onto the satellite floor not too long ago. When he undid them from the pole, he quickly put the open handcuff on her free hand. Her hate for him grew.

"I'm _not_ going to do anything with handcuffs on. I have to be able to move freely to do some programming."

He scratched the back of his neck and looked uncomfortable again. "I don't want a repeat of our scuffle in the satellite. I think handcuffs will help us avoid that, don't you?"

"I don't know how to fly. If I kill you, how am I supposed to land?"

He held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, little lady. Who said anything about killing? I just don't want to have to pin you to the floor again and gag you. But now you've got me wondering. Are you going to try to kill me?"

"No! I have a vested interest in making this ship untraceable. So if you would just let me do _what I'm best at_ , then both of us could benefit. And—you won't have to pin me, or whatever."

"Fair enough."

He moved his hand back to the lock, but then hesitated. "And…no screaming either, right?"

At least she had done _something_ that had bothered him.

* * *

After almost forty minutes of complicated coding, Cress felt a bit more like herself. She had even started to sing a bit by the end. When she finished, she turned in her chair to find Thorne staring at her, looking amused. He held a blanket and a mug out to her. "I thought you might be cold. And thirsty. But you seemed a bit…into whatever you were doing…so I didn't want to bother you."

Cress was surprised that he would make any kind of semi-thoughtful gesture, but she was more embarrassed than anything that he had heard her singing. "Oh, thanks," she said, feeling her cheeks burn. She took the blanket from him first, after wrapping it around her tightly, she accepted the mug. He continued to focus on her.

"What?"

"I'm just trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do with you."

"Take me to Earth."

"Well, yes, eventually that is the plan, but for now I think it's better if we stay in orbit for a while. We certainly can't go back to the Eastern Commonwealth if what you said about the military was true. And you owe me a few more things before we land."

"It was true," she said quietly, looking at the tea in her mug. "You were about to get caught."

"Nah, maybe they would have gotten close, but they wouldn't have actually caught me. I'm too quick for them."

Cress turned away from him, hoping he would leave her alone. These were her first moments of feeling any sort of peace aboard the ship, and she wanted to relish in no longer being trapped on the satellite. She gazed out at the Earth below her, and felt a tingle of excitement take over as she imagined what it would be like take a step on real soil. She'd watched the Earth for so many years, and now in perhaps just a few days time, her dream would become a reality.

But after a while the Rampion's trajectory turned, and suddenly she found herself staring at Luna. It looked huge from this vantage point, and its sparkling white and gray light seemed to reach out and touch her lungs, filling her with icy dread. Cress began to shake all over in fright.

"Hey, are you still cold?" asked Thorne. She hadn't realized he was still there.

"No—no—" she replied, her teeth chattering.

Thorne took the mug out of her hands. "Come on, let's get you some more blankets before you freeze to death. Maybe you're in shock from all the excitement today." Cress's gaze remained fixed on the moon. She was certain that Sybil would already know that she'd escaped, and that the Lunar Queen was somehow watching their ship from the moon. If she could see Luna, surely Lunars could see her.

"Hey—wait a minute," said Thorne. He came to stand next to her. "You're not afraid of the moon are you?"

She managed to tear her gaze away from Luna and studied him instead. She had been sure that he would think she was pathetic for this too, but his face seemed gentler than she'd expected. "Uh—yes. You know, Lunars."

Thorne nodded. "Your mother tell you scary bedtime stories about them too?" He shook his head. "Sorry, forgot about the no parents thing—yeah." He cleared his throat. "We're still on Earthen territory, so don't worry. They don't come over the border."

But they did. She had helped to disguise their ships for many years. And eventually, they would attack Earth when they had enough of them in place.

"I know some people who say they've come in contact with them, though," he continued. "From what I've gathered, Lunars are a crazy, psychotic species that pretty much deserve to die." He chuckled. "But we already knew that, didn't we?"

Cress forced herself to get out of her chair and walk in the opposite direction of the dashboard.

"You heading to the kitchen? I could use some dinner myself," he called behind her. "Let me just put this baby in complete auto-control."

She kept walking.

He could never find out she was Lunar. Because if he did, he would probably try to kill her too.


	5. Chapter 5

Once he was confident that the Rampion was fine on its own, Thorne hurried to the kitchen as quickly as he could. He was surprised that she had known exactly where to go, as if she had already memorized the interior of his ship. It probably had to do with her previous stalking and surveillance. When he arrived in the galley, however, the girl wasn't there.

_Spades._

He dashed around corner and reached the corridor to the living quarters, and finally saw her in his room. She was rifling through a drawer in his small wardrobe. His bed's blankets had also been overturned. She was clearly searching for something. After catching his breath a moment, he cleared his throat rather loudly. She turned to him with a look that Thorne could only classify as paralyzing fear.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk…caught in the act," he scolded, entering the room. She ran behind the bunk bed, as if the poles that held its frame could hide her from him. He didn't even bother trying to approach her. He simply walked over to the drawers and slid them shut, one by one, first with his foot on the lowest one, then his hip on the middle one, and finally the uppermost with his hand.

"I guess I'll give you credit for trying," he said as he turned back to her and leaned against the closed wardrobe. He was unable to keep the smirk off of his face. "But there's two things you should know about stealing. And considering that this line of work is right up my alley, I'm happy to let you in on a few trade secrets."

He knew he sounded cocky, but seriously, she thought she could steal from _him_? It was laughable. "First, don't ever assume that you can outsmart a master thief such as myself. I know _all_ the tricks of the trade, my dear. Don't think for a second that I would submit myself to the same stupidities as those from whom I steal."

He paused and walked closer to her, even though he saw that she visibly shrank at his approach. He held out his hand and she flinched, but he merely put it above her head, measuring her. "You're what, barely five tall? The _second_ secret is that you should probably stick to stealing things that are more…I don't know, at your eye level?" Thorne laughed and pointed at the uppermost shelf.

Clearly the girl wasn't appreciating his tips, because if anyone had ever been able to shoot daggers with her eyes, it was her. For some reason, her anger made the situation funnier, and his laugh deepened. So much so, that he had to sit down on his bed to keep from doubling over.

She didn't laugh, of course. In the short time he'd known her, Thorne was positive she probably didn't even know what a joke was. As his laughing subsided, though, she came out from behind the poles.

"You're not…mad at me?" she asked quietly.

Thorne let out another chuckle. "Heavens, no. Just amused. It was a pretty pathetic attempt. Where did you think you were going to hide whatever it is you were looking for, once you got it? I know where you live now."

He straightened up in the bed. "Hey, what were you trying to find anyway?"

"I'm looking for a sharp knife," she said firmly. "There weren't any in the kitchen, and I know you have one."

Thorne thought of the knife tucked away in his back pocket, and the grin faded from his face.

"What do you need a knife for?" he asked, now suspicious.

"Nothing."

He thought about her sneaking around already, only a few hours after coming aboard. Maybe it wasn't _as_ amusing as he'd thought, after all. "Nothing, huh?"

"Nothing."

He snorted. "Right. Because that makes me feel _real_ safe."

She folded her arms across her chest. "It's personal, and I don't have to tell you."

He was beginning to grow annoyed. Why did she want a sharp knife? Was she trying to kill herself? Worse, kill him?

"Keep up with that attitude, sweetheart, and you'll be right back where you started. In fact—" he reached into his jacket pocket and whipped out the handcuffs, "—these seem to be appropriate again, don't you think?"

Her face sagged a bit, but to his surprise, she didn't resist this time as he strapped one of her hands to the pole on his bedframe. It made him feel a bit perturbed to see that she had lost the fight in her. Maybe she really _was_ trying to kill herself. This disturbed him on many levels. He tried to make the cuffs loose enough so that she could at least lie down on the mattress comfortably.

"Now, do you want to tell me what all that was about?" he asked gently.

No reply.

"You could probably convince me to take those off?" He pointed at the handcuffs.

No reply.

"Do you want me to bring you some food?"

Again no reply. So, they were back to this game again. Thorne felt a wave of frustration threatening to burst out of him and tried to remain calm and collected. That was his normal state of mind. He could brush things off easily. Something about this girl, though, just managed to get him all riled up.

She didn't appreciate anything he did for her. And he was really trying here. He'd brought her some tea and a blanket. Hadn't gotten mad when she had clearly violated his privacy. Offered food.

Come to think of it, why was he bothering with this girl anyway? It'd be so much easier for him to just spend the next few days ignoring her while she just sat there. It was what she deserved.

But there was a girl on his ship.

Not that this was the first time.

He should probably correct that thought: there was a girl on this ship who he didn't want there. It was a strange sensation.

Thorne had enough of her for the time being, and since she refused to 'fess up about her intentions with the knife, let alone acknowledge him, he decided to leave. She couldn't be trusted. He'd made the right choice.

As he turned the corner of his doorway, he heard a quiet but angry voice finally speak up.

"My name is Cress."

He turned to look at her.

"Don't ever call me sweetheart again."

* * *

A few hours later and well into the night, Thorne returned to his room to see that Cress had fallen asleep. She was lying in an awkward position, with her cuffed hand stretched out above the blanket to reach the pole. He noticed that she'd undone the braid in her hair somehow, and her long, unruly locks spread out over everything. Despite looking rather wild and unkempt, looking at her sleep so soundly made him soften a bit.

He set the food and water he'd brought for her down on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb her. Thorne reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to the cuffs. He'd thought about the situation while he ate—thought about it long and hard. The thought of her panicked looks and desperation seemed to be haunting him. He didn't want to be the bad guy, even though he knew he wasn't a good guy by any means. After a lifetime of imprisonment in a satellite, he just couldn't keep her locked up here too. He would just have to take his chances.

The lock opened without any noise, and he gently laid her hand down by her side.

Then he sat down in front of the door, blocking the exit. He'd stay awake tonight, lest she get any crazy ideas when she woke up.

Just in case.

* * *

Thorne woke with a start. His back was sore from lying on the hard floor. Wait...why was he lying on the floor? His brain was scrambled from being tired. Rubbing his eyes, he looked up at his bed. Saw the unmade blankets.

_Oh._

A jolt of panic hit him when he realized that the girl wasn't there.

He jumped to his feet and surveyed the room. Going out into the hallway, he began to look for her. "Cress?" he called hesitantly. "Cress, where are you?"

A chill spread through him when nothing but the quiet whirring of the ship responded. Instinctively, he reached for the knife in his pocket—only to discover that the knife wasn't there. Stars above, what had he done?

What had _she_ done?

He began creeping up the hallway, almost as he had in the satellite, hyper-aware of everything around him. It was too unnerving. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw a light coming from underneath the bathroom door. Thorne felt instantly silly for being so spooked. _She was just in the bathroom_.

But then…why had she taken his knife?

Thorne considering breaking down the door with one swift kick for about three seconds, and then decided to err on the side of being a gentleman.

He knocked. "Cress? Is…everything okay?"

To his surprise, the door opened a crack. He saw Cress's eyes survey him for a minute, and then the door open a sliver more. "Everything is great!"

It was the most enthusiasm he'd seen her muster, and it caught him slightly off guard. She went to shut the door again, but Thorne put his foot in the way, halting it.

"Cress… _why do you have my knife_?"

"Oh, that. Just give me a few moments."

Thorne pleaded for the stars to give him patience. " _Cress_. I'm really trying not to be the bad guy here, but you are _scaring_ me. I'm giving you five seconds to open the door or I'm coming in forcefully."

"Fine."

Cress opened the door. He had been so ready to see blood, or some indication of her hurting herself, that what he did see only made him gape at the room in shock. The room was covered in long locks of blonde hair. They were on the floor, hanging off of the bathroom sink, and draped all over her clothes. The hair that still remained on her head was cropped short, just reaching the middle of her neck.

"Well?" she asked excitedly, a smile lighting up her face. "What do you think?"


	6. Chapter 6

Her enthusiastic face stared up at him as he continued to process what had just transpired. Then Thorne burst out laughing. Part from relief, part from his recovering shock.

_She just wanted to cut her hair?_

Her face fell as he laughed. "You hate it." She turned to study herself in the mirror.

"Wait, wait, wait. We'll get to that. First, why didn't you just tell me you wanted to cut your hair?" He pushed past her into the bathroom. It was like a jungle of weeds in there. _Hair_ weeds. He sat down on the lid of the toilet seat after removing some of the stray locks that had fallen there too.

"I was mad at you." Cress stated it simply, as if it were normal for them to fight.

"Mad at me? _Mad_ at me? I rescued you from your satellite, I gave you…a _blanket_ , and I didn't get angry with you when you tried to steal from me!" He thought about listing everything else he could think of to show that he had in fact done her several favors, but decided to save those in case she came up with a counter-argument.

She tore her gaze away from the mirror and rounded on him. "You think you're some big hero or something?"

"Me? A hero? No way," he scoffed.

"Oh. Good." She turned back to the mirror and leaned in to inspect her coif some more. Thorne sat dumbly on the toilet seat, not really sure what he was supposed to add to their "argument."

"Do you have any make-up?" she asked casually.

Thorne raised an eyebrow, surprised that she was changing the subject so easily. "Why do you need make-up?"

"I am an actress," she murmured, though Thorne thought it sounded like she was talking to herself again.

"Are you sure you're not still the daughter of a governor who's been kidnapped by a pirate?" he asked dryly.

He watched her eyes narrow in the mirror. "Yeah, I heard you muttering to yourself on the satellite. What's with that anyway?"

She took a deep breath and finally turned around to face him. "I have a very strong imagination. You wouldn't understand."

He leaned back and raised his hands in defense. "Sweethea— _Cress,_ " he quickly amended, remembering how she'd despised the salutation. "I've known _plenty_ of girls who have a strong imagination. So believe me, _that_ I can understand. And even enjoy." He chuckled to himself, remembering a specific example from back in his military days. Then he realized he probably shouldn't share that story with her.

"But this is different. I don't really get it."

Cress sighed. "I haven't had any company for so many years. Well, besides Little Cress."

"Who's Little Cress?" he asked curiously.

"She's part of the software to my invsi-screens. I programmed her myself. She's a bit like an android without a body, I guess."

"I had a robotic cat once," he said. He wasn't sure why he'd said that. He didn't like talking about his past.

"Did she talk?"

"No. She purred, though. I always wanted a real cat instead. Anyway…you were saying? You haven't had any company so you use your imagination?"

"Yes." She bit her lip. "Probably another reason you think I'm crazy."

He laughed. "I'm still deciding on that one."

"Is that why you tied me up?" she asked suddenly, eyes wide.

Thorne listed his head to one side. "I thought we went over this. I don't know you, you stalked me, you blackmailed me, you forced me to take you with me, and I don't know if I can trust you. Then, you threatened me with a knife."

"I did _not_ threaten you!" Her angry voice was back.

"Details. Point is, if you would have told me you wanted a haircut, I probably wouldn't have tied you up. I didn't like doing that."

"Really?"

He shrugged. "Every time I get near you, you look at me like I'm about to murder you or…" He trailed off, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't know, do other things to hurt you. I don't like it."

"You didn't seem to have a problem with it."

How much should he really be telling this girl? He probably shouldn't be letting her in on how he felt about this whole situation anyway. He had to act tough and remain disconnected. Changing the subject would probably be a better move.

"You finally got a knife, Cress. You managed to steal it from me while I was sleeping, which I must admit was impressive. Definitely wasn't expecting that one. You could have killed me. Or, I guess, even cuffed me. Why didn't you? I know you hate me."

Cress began to fiddle with a strand of her hair. "You let me go," she said quietly. "I figured if you trusted me enough to let me sleep without being tied up, then maybe I shouldn't hate you so much."

"It was never my intention to keep you tied up the entire time you were on this ship."

"I wouldn't blame you, I guess. I mean, I would hate you if you did, but I know I ruined your life."

He laughed again. "Let's not be overly dramatic. But you are _definitely_ a pain. And I have no idea what I'm going to do with you."

She fiddled some more as she watched him with her blue eyes. Those darn eyes. They were going to be the death of him.

"Let me think on that for a bit. For now, why don't we take a better look at your hair."

Hope etched its way very clearly onto her face. "Really?"

"Why do you care what I think, anyway?" he asked as he got up to stand behind her.

They were both looking in the mirror now. He towered over her. A little pit in his stomach formed as a vivid memory of his parents came back to him. His mom sitting in a chair in front of the vanity, putting on her lipstick. His father, all adorned in his military suit, standing behind her and looking proudly down at his wife. It was one of the only times that he'd seen his dad look proud in Thorne's presence. Thorne had always just disappointed him.

"You're the first guy I've ever met," she said shyly. "Well, since I was eight years old."

The same feeling of unease about her situation that he'd had aboard her satellite returned. He didn't like the way his gut tightened when he thought about her held prisoner there for so many years. He tried to shake away the thought. It didn't matter. It wasn't his fault that she had been locked up.

"Aha," he said, eager to lighten the mood from his own convoluted thoughts. "So you're trying to impress me?"

She turned bright red. "No."

He poked her side, and she jumped. " _Uh-huh_."

"I thought that since, um, you seem to have a little bit of an idea of fashion, maybe you could help me make it look right. So I'll be more presentable to society."

He grinned. "I do have an excellent sense of style."

Thorne studied her hair in the mirror. He already thought she was pretty, with her little heart-shaped face and freckles. He didn't even allow himself to think about her eyes again. Her hairstyle was a bit messy though. He picked up the scissors from the sink. "May I?"

She nodded.

"I think that we could make this a little neater. Maybe add in an angle or two." He reached for her hair. He was _not_ about to tell her that he'd never cut hair in his life and now that he was faced with the challenge it seemed a lot more difficult than he'd imagined. Confidence was key here. Thorne snipped away a bit, and though he tried to concentrate on the hair, his gaze often drifed back to the mirror. She seemed more relaxed now, and he liked that. High-stress situations and crying girls were not his favorite combination. This was much better. Still, it felt oddly intimate to be doing this with a complete stranger.

"There," he said. "That should do it."

He brushed off a few of the cut pieces from her neck. A small tingle went through his fingers at the touch and he immediately pulled his hand away. They stared at each other in the mirror.

"So I look okay? Like an Earth—like a regular person?"

"Yes. You could definitely pass for a regular person."

Beaming, she twirled around once, and almost collided with Thorne's back.

"Steady there, Miss Actress."

She blushed again. "Sorry."

"You know, I think we need to get you out of that dress."

The red on her cheeks turned a deep crimson. "Wh—what?"

"Normal people don't wear tattered dresses like that. And don't even get me _started_ on that weird sheet you had wrapped around yourself in the satellite."

"I was just trying to disguise myself," she said defensively. Then, in a lower tone, "I don't have anything else to wear. You didn't let me get any of my things."

Ah. That hadn't been a good oversight on his part. "Hang on a minute, I have an idea. I'll be right back. In the meantime, why don't you clean up some of the hair in here?"

Thorne left for his room. He'd packed up all his belongings from his hotel in New Beijing when he'd decided to proceed with this so-called "mission." He didn't own too much—being constantly on the move prevented him from taking too much along with him—but he did have several outfits. Worst case scenario, he could rummage through the boxes in the cargo bay. Maybe there was something in there for girls.

His wardrobe was a mess from her desperate attempts to find a knife. Thorne still couldn't believe that she'd thought he'd hide a knife in his drawers. Amateurs. After a few minutes, he found something that could work and headed back to the bathroom. It looked a little better now, though it would likely take a while before all the hair was completely removed from the floor.

"They're not much, and they'll definitely be too big, but there's no buttons or zippers or anything, so you can just roll up the pants until they fit you. I don't usually wear sweats, so I won't need them while we're on the Rampion. We'll figure out something else later."

Cress stared down at the clothes in awe. "I've never worn pants."

"Well look at that, you can take that off your bucket list now."

He reminded her that she needed to eat something before he left her in the bathroom and went to the galley. Pulling out a box of cereal, he considered letting her make her own breakfast. Then, rather annoyed, he reminded himself that this girl was still in a bit of a delicate state. She obviously needed a little special attention. Thorne filled her bowl too and set two places at the table. He tried to sit patiently, but he wasn't used to having to wait on someone else, so he decided to eat without her.

Mid-mouthful, Cress walked in. She had that shy look on her face again, as if looking for his approval. But what intrigued him the most was her clothes. Well, _his_ clothes on her. He was used to girls in tight clothes that showed off the kind of curves he liked. He was used to girls who wore too _little_ clothing around him. But he was completely caught off guard by this five foot girl drowning in his enormous black hoodie and baggy faded sweatpants.

He swallowed. She was absolutely _adorable_.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay. Maybe she didn't despise Carswell Thorne as much as she initially thought. He was still the worst decision she'd ever made, of course, but Cress had to admit that being around him now was at least tolerable. Something about no longer being handcuffed, getting a haircut, and eating a few meals seemed to have made both of their moods improve quite a bit. Thorne no longer looked at her like she might kill him in his sleep, and Cress, well, she no longer daydreamed about killing him in his sleep.

Throughout the day, Thorne mostly kept to himself. She tried at one point to ask what he was doing, but he'd shooed her away. When she came to tell him that lunch was ready, however, she could see that he had large maps and notes with indecipherable writing littered all over the floor. He hunched over them, deep in concentration. Cress was really surprised to see that he had a pencil tucked behind his ear. She hadn't known that people used pencils anymore, let alone bothered to write things by hand when they could easily use a port or a netscreen. Maybe it was an Earthen thing. She decided not to push the topic in case it would give away her ignorance.

Thorne complimented her on the food she'd made. She put on a cool facade that made her seem as if she had cooked her whole life and it was no big deal, but inside, she was glowing. Cress had only ever eaten the freeze-dried food that Sybil had stockpiled on her satellite. She'd watched a lot of cooking netshows though, and was fascinated with Earthen food. Plus, Thorne had cooked a weird meal for them at breakfast. It was something he called "cereal," but it just seemed like he had roasted some grains and covered them in sugar. These sugary grains floated in milk and were apparently something that they ate in the American Republic. She didn't tell him, but when she took her first bite she decided that she better take over the cooking from then on. Problem was, despite her cooking shows, she didn't recognize half the ingredients in the Rampion's cupboards. She'd definitely have to do some research later when Thorne wasn't looking.

When Thorne returned to his room and his maps, Cress returned to the bathroom and its large mirror. She was still getting used to the idea of her haircut. She had _short_ hair. _Stylish_ hair. Here in the privacy of the bathroom, she could spin around, shake her hair, and stare at her reflection to her heart's content. She looked like a famous opera singer. Except, of course, for the huge clothes that Thorne had lent her. It took a lot of imagination to forget that she was wearing them, and that they weren't incredibly ugly on her, but she still managed. She was the most sought-after opera singer in all the galaxy. Her shows filled up only minutes after tickets went on sale. And her voice astounded them all. Cress sang a few tunes from a particular Second Era opera she was fond of. It was about freedom. Because Cress was free.

Sort of.

She was still stuck on this spaceship with Carswell Thorne, but it wouldn't be long before they would have to eventually land. After all, the Rampion wasn't meant for long orbits. They'd have to get fuel at some point. Cress imagined all the things she would do on Earth. One of the most romantic ideas she could think of was her first trip to the beach. She would feel salty water under her feet as she ran along the sand. Her hair would billow in the breeze along with the cute dress she'd wear. Things _did not_ billow in space. She'd taste seafood for the first time. Maybe chat up a local gentleman who waitered at one of the beach bars. And she would swim as much as she possibly could. Then, at the end of the day, she would watch as the sunset faded into a burning red at the horizon. Cress squealed with delight at her fantasy. Finally, finally, finally, her fantasy would become a reality. Along with many others.

She just had to figure out how to get away from Thorne without him realizing that she was Lunar. Unfortunately, as he'd pointed out, she hadn't thought that part of her plan through. She wondered if there was a way that she could trick him into telling her what he would do in this situation. He was, after all, a selfish criminal, and a selfish criminal would always look out for himself. But he was rather clever too. He would know what she was trying to do. She'd have to come up with something more clever. It would be tricky, but somehow she would get out of this—just like she had gotten out of the satellite.

There was something that she had to do first, though. It'd been weighing on her since she'd left the satellite. There was still one person who could ruin all of her plans, even the ones she hadn't made yet.

Mistress Sybil.

If she found out that Cress was missing before the Rampion got far enough away, she was sure that neither she nor Thorne would survive the manhunt that would ensue. Cress was simply too valuable. Which, if she thought about it, was rather ironic considering how Sybil always told her that she was worthless. When she was younger, Cress had always cried whenever Mistress told her that. She wanted to be loved, valued, and appreciated. But as she'd spent more time in the satellite, she'd come to realize that one of the reasons she would never leave the satellite was because she knew too much. This made her valuable. Her hacking skills could make entire fleets of Lunar ships disappear. She could record hour-long meetings with key Earthen leaders, among other hacking talents. And her blood was valuable. She didn't know why, but she knew that Sybil took her blood somewhere after every visit to the satellite. Mistress Sybil wanted Cress alive or she would have killed her already. Now that she'd escaped, though, Cress was fairly certain her value would go down to nothing. Now she would just be a liability.

Cress couldn't begin her investigation until Thorne went to bed, though. She busied herself with anything she could while Thorne remained holed up in his room. She ate dinner by herself, which was perfectly fine with her, and then flicked on a netscreen to watch a drama. The one she decided on was one of her favorites, and Cress was rather thrilled that she wouldn't have to miss an episode. She was about half-way through when Thorne finally came to find her.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the door. "You still watching this nonsense?"

She almost gave him a sour look, but then got the distinct impression from his face that he was just teasing her. "I like this one," she said instead.

He glanced at the screen then back to her. "I guess I can't blame you. All the girls love that actor, don't they?"

Cress wasn't sure. She hadn't met any other girls, but she did know this actor was rather famous. "Yes."

"Is it because he looks like Prince Kai?"

"I—"

"Wait, let me guess," Thorne snickered. "Is Prince Kai your _dream_ man? Does he make your heart _flutter_?" Thorne batted his eyes at her, and she thought he looked rather ridiculous, so she giggled.

Thorne let his jaw fall open theatrically.

"What?"

"You're laughing. I can't believe it," he said.

She giggled again. "Well, yeah, you're being silly."

"I believe that's the biggest compliment you've given me since we've met. I'll take it."

Cress bit her lip and looked down, unsure of what to say.

Thorne cleared his throat. "Well listen, I'm gonna head to bed soon. Thought I'd check if you needed anything beforehand. Like a toothbrush, maybe."

Cress stared at him.

"You did...have toothbrushes on the satellite, right?" He eyed her warily.

She recovered quickly. "Yes, I did. You're right, a toothbrush would be great, thanks."

He gestured to the hallway. "Well come on then."

They went back to the bathroom where Thorne rummaged in the cabinet for a moment before pulling out a blue brush. "Here you go."

Cress took it eagerly and undid the wrapper. Thorne grabbed some toothpaste from below the vanity. She slid some paste onto her toothbrush and gave the tube back to Thorne. But instead of putting it away and leaving the bathroom, Thorne simply pulled his own toothbrush from the cup on the sink and slid some toothpaste on it. Then he turned on the water and began brushing his teeth as if it were completely normal for the both of them to do this together.

Which of course it wasn't. She'd never brushed her teeth with anyone before. Wasn't that something that couples did together before they went to bed? The thought of it made her cheeks warm just a bit. Thorne, however, didn't seem fazed at all. He raised his eyebrows at her in the mirror and cocked his head at the water, which he'd left running for her. Cress gingerly put her toothbrush under the faucet and began cleaning her teeth. She tried to close her mouth as much as possible so he wouldn't see all the foam in her mouth. She caught him watching her in the mirror and looked down shyly. When she looked up again, she saw that Thorne, on the other hand, was almost oozing foam. He made a big gurgling noise and then spit his toothpaste into the sink. He splashed some water in this mouth, turned off the faucet, gave Cress a dazzling smile, and then walked casually out of the bathroom. Cress moved to spit out her own toothpaste, and stopped when she looked into the sink. That was the moment when she decided that living with a boy was perhaps a bit more gross than she'd previously imagined.

Cress went back to the room Thorne had told her she could sleep in from now on. She counted down the minutes until she thought he might have fallen asleep. Then she snuck to his room and pressed her ear against the door. She heard rhythmic breathing. All clear. Cress headed quickly to the cockpit and all the beautiful netscreens and controls that awaited her. Inhaling deeply, she sat down and began.

It'd been a long time since she hacked into any Lunar surveillance. After she'd found Julian's parents so long ago, she didn't want to try searching for anything Lunar-related for many years. Then, when she'd gotten up the courage to at least watch some Lunar feeds on her netscreen, she'd realized that Lunars disgusted her to a certain degree. They also made her incredibly sad. She knew exactly where to look, though. Mistress Sybil's specialty was surveillance, and Cress had always been her pawn. She'd set up surveillance systems not just to spy on Earthens, but Lunars too.

Cress pulled up a picture of Sybil and connected it to a facial recognition program in Luna's surveillance database. She went through footage of the last twenty-four hours rather quickly until she found what she was looking for. Sighing in relief, she watched as Sybil spent her day around Artemisia Palace. Cress wasn't able to see her in every room, because the Lunar Queen didn't like cameras, but she saw enough to know that Sybil had not departed on her podship. They were safe.

Cress paused when she saw a feed from the medical laboratories. Sybil Mira had spent a long time there today. The head scientist and her seemed to be arguing quite a bit, and then finally, he handed her some paperwork and a vial. Cress zoomed in as much as she could, but only saw the word CONFIDENTIAL stamped across top, along with a few numbers and letters. She couldn't make out the beginning of the sequence. Curiosity peaked, she hacked into the medical database and entered the numbers from the document. Most of the documents that came back as possible hits were years old, but she narrowed it down to one that was dated only from this past week.

Her happiness dissipated when she read the document. Sybil Mira was to take the vial to one of the shells that they kept hidden for experimentation and inject it in him during his monthly blood draw. Then, Queen Levana herself would issue him a royal decree stating that this shell had been forgiven of his crimes, and was going on a special mission for Luna. The mission, apparently, was to join Emperor Rikan's personal guard as an undercover spy. The shell would only know that he was to report back any information he found from his time there, and if he were helpful, he could come back to Luna as a free man. What the man wouldn't know was that Sybil had injected him with the plague. It was the same plague that had ravished Earth for the last several years.

The shell's real job was to infect Emperor Rikan with Letumosis.

* * *

The next morning, Cress still hadn't recovered from her shock. Why were they sending a shell? Why did Levana want to infect Emperor Rikan, unless she wanted to kill him? And what could she do to stop her?

When she heard Thorne invite her for breakfast, though, she tried to think rationally. She couldn't—wouldn't—do anything. And she certainly wouldn't tell anyone what she knew. If Earthens hated Lunars as much as Thorne said they did, then no one would ever believe her. Besides, she had to think like a selfish criminal. And a selfish criminal would keep herself safe, and not worry about the problems of an evil queen and a poor, unsuspecting emperor.


	8. Chapter 8

Thorne didn't tell Cress that he had heard her screaming in her sleep. Instead, he studied her carefully as they ate breakfast together. Her cropped locks were a little messy from sleep, and she had this one little tuft of hair that was just calling to be tucked back into place. He would have offered, but it would have been incredibly inappropriate—for both of them—so he let it be. In a way, it matched the hoodie and sweatpant combo look that she was still sporting. The mood between them was dull and muted. They were back to ground zero again. She was somber, with a sour look etched all over her features, and big blue eyes that pierced into him like bullets whenever she looked up from her cereal. Which she hadn't touched at all.

"Everything okay?" he finally decided to ask.

"Fine," she grumbled.

He chewed thoughtfully as she pretended to eat by sloshing around the milk in her bowl. Hadn't both their moods improved radically since her haircut? Wasn't the worst of their misunderstandings behind them? Shouldn't she be cutting him some slack now that she _appeared_ to understand everything he'd done for her? He'd just sacrificed his entire livelihood in New Beijing for her—and unwillingly too! He was, albeit grudgingly, beginning to see her point of view as well, though. Had he been in the same position, he would have figured out a way to blackmail a hotshot spaceship pilot too. She'd done better than that though—she'd gotten a Captain. And he was nothing if not a self-proclaimed hotshot. Cress should be happy. Thankful.

Then again, if he could remove his ego from the equation for a minute, he knew she'd had a bad dream. He probably should have woken her up. Maybe now she wouldn't be in such a bad mood then. Wasn't that what normal, gentlemanly men did in situations like this, anyway? When had he become so uncivilized? And yet, from all the net drama watching she'd done, she probably would have expected him to take her into his arms and soothe her. He couldn't have that. No, definitely not. It would have been too intrusive for him to barge in there, anyway.

Besides, he'd had a bad dream of his own, and he wasn't sitting here complaining about it. His restless night had been filled with visions of Lunars chasing the Rampion until it had exploded into burning fire, with both Cress and him aboard it. The thought of his poor baby being burned alive was almost worse than the thought of the two of them dying. Almost. He was still most concerned with self-preservation, even in his dreams.

The dream had reminded him of an important fact: he had other things to worry about _like_ his self-preservation. Where were they were going to land? His previous choices of residency had always had a purpose, and he'd always managed to fulfill that purpose and leave before any trouble could follow him. The fact that he'd been unsuccessful in New Beijing was eating away at him. That necklace had been worth so many univs to the right buyer. Now, without the necklace, any concrete plans, and this girl in tow, he was sheer out of ideas. Something about her was blocking him from continuing to be a criminal mastermind.

It was a problem. He'd poured over maps all day yesterday, trying to think of where to go next, but he always went back to the same stumbling block: Cress. What would he do with her once they landed? How would he get away from her? And where would she go? Did he trust her enough to keep his secrets?

He squirmed in his chair. "We're getting along a little better, wouldn't you say?"

Cress stopped stirring. "I just want to get to Earth," she said blankly.

He nodded in agreement, but he didn't appreciate her tone. "Right. Have you given any thought as to where you…might like to go?"

"You're giving me a choice?" she asked, startled.

"More like…looking for your feedback," he said slowly. "I realized I never actually asked what your plans were."

"My plans are my own," she said.

"I see. Revenge on those who ruined your life, I suppose?"

Cress shuddered. "No. Not at all."

"Too innocent for that sort of thing?"

"I used to be," she said quietly. "I'm not anymore."

"Oh, right." He smirked. "Blackmail will do that do you."

"That's not why I don't want to go after them. I just want to have a normal life on Earth and be left alone."

Thorne got up to rinse off his dishes. When he was done, he wiped his hands on his pants to dry them quickly. "You should think about a disguise, you know."

Cress just shrugged. "No one will recognize me. They took me when I was a baby."

"The people who took you, though, don't you think they've noticed you're gone by now?"

"Maybe."

"Will they come looking for you?"

"Probably."

He crossed his arms. "You seem very unconcerned about this."

Her big eyes became slits. "I just want to forget about them, okay? Stop asking me about it."

"In our current state of affairs, your well-being affects mine right now. So I'm going to make sure you get a disguise."

She threw up her hands. "Is that why you have that ugly jet-black hair right now?"

"Ugly!?" Thorne's hands flew to his hair. "I could never be ugly. I'm insulted on so many levels."

She rolled her eyes. "You look stupid. It's really obvious that it's not your natural hair color."

"Ah, but it does make me blend in more, doesn't it? Light brown hair and blue eyes don't work so well in New Beijing if you're trying to be inconspicuous."

"How did you color your eyes differently anyway? I've kind of been wondering."

"Ahhh. So you _have_ noticed that my dreamy blue eyes were missing from this equation after all."

Cress huffed.

"I know, I know, I'm much more attractive in my natural state. Though I must say, the time I spent working on my tan has really paid off, don't you think?" He posed and flashed her a brilliant smile.

"You're so full of yourself," she said.

He grinned. "But I look good. Come on, admit it."

"No."

He sighed and walked back to the table. "They're just colored contacts, by the way."

"Great." She was still disinterested. Thorne was beginning to wonder if he was starting to lose his touch.

"Well, since you need a disguise, maybe the first thing we should do is stop at a shopping center." The words slipped out before he realized what he'd said.

Cress brightened almost instantly, though. "Really?"

He scratched at his dyed hair. Had he really just offered to take her shopping? On Earth? This would mean more time together, more liabilities. What was he doing? "Uh—you need other clothes anyway."

Cress pulled his hoodie over her head and tightened the strings around her face. "You mean this look isn't enough?" She giggled.

His knees felt slightly weak for some reason, so he sat down. "Cress, honestly. You look like a runaway." But she ignored him. Instead, she seemed overcome with glee. Figured. Women and their shopping. He'd trapped himself, plain and simple.

"I've never been shopping before! But when I was bored sometimes I'd search the different online outlets with Little Cress and we'd chat about going for real. I'm so excited!" She stood up and beamed at him.

"So, yes on the shopping then," he remarked, mostly to himself. He was an idiot. Could he take it back now? Yes, yes he could. But he still needed a place to land anyway. This could be a good motivation for him to finally make a decision. "American Republic is obviously out. Australia is out, and so is the Eastern Commonwealth…at least for now." He racked his brains for a possibly inviting location. He wasn't a fan of Queen Camilla, and he had no desire to run amok in her small kingdom anyway. Africa was too hot around this time of year. Plus, he wasn't a fan of all the letumosis outbreak rumors he'd been hearing about in that region on the newsfeeds lately. He hadn't spent too much time in the European Federation yet, though…and his pale companion could certainly fit in there a little better than some other countries. Not to mention there would be plenty of shopping to distract Cress, and _many_ business opportunities for him.

"What about Paris?"

Cress shrieked. "Paris? The city of love?"

Thorne waved his hand dismissively, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "City of love, city of lights, city of whatever. It's a city. We're more likely to blend in."

"As long as you don't steal anything," she said, eyeing him.

He laughed but ignored her statement for obvious reasons. "Does this mean you're going to stop pouting for the remainder of our time on the Rampion?"

"Maybe."

"Don't make me beg. Because I won't."

She pulled on the strings of her—his—hoodie again, distracted. "I am a model, and I'm going shopping, and I'll be on a runway, and everyone will see me!"

Thorne held up his hands. "Hey, hey, hey. You can't have that many careers. I can't keep track of all of them. And the first rule once we land will be that _no one_ will see you."

Cress gave the strings one more yank, then propped herself up on her elbows. "Okay."

"And before we get there, you're making me that new ID chip."

"Oh, right."

"So you've got a lot of work cut out for you if you want to get there any time soon."

"Fine." Her excited expression had completely faded.

"What's wrong now?" he asked, trying to hide his annoyance.

She stared at him and those wide oceans of pain were back and it took everything in him not to break her gaze. "You sound like my…captors. Making sure I get the hack jobs done."

Thorne shook his head slowly, uneasily. He thought of her screaming from her room. Indignation flared up inside of him. "That's not what I meant. I need your help, Cress, to fix some things that, well, unfortunately you brought on me. I helped you, didn't I?"

"Not because you wanted to."

"You're right. I didn't want to. You forced me to. Just like you forced me to take you aboard the Rampion or else die in a locked satellite room. You're not the only one who's now stuck somewhere they don't want to be."

Cress's lower lip began to tremble. "I didn't have a choice."

"Well now, neither do I." He looked away from her and flicked some crumbs off the table. "You're making that chip. End of story."


	9. Chapter 9

"There."

Thorne watched as Cress punched in a few more commands, then cracked her knuckles and nodded. "20,000 univs are all ours."

"20,000? You're sure?"

"I told you, I'm good at what I do. This was easy."

Thorne stared at his old ID chip, which he now held in the palm of his hand. Inside, it contained a wiped memory drive replaced with a brand new European identity and the money she'd just transferred from a bank in Australia. "And they're not going to be able to trace this money because…?"

"Because I've been doing this for years for my captors and I know the proper channels to go through when one wants to hide wire transfers. If anyone looks, it'll seem like the government simply took more taxes from a rich investor who recently came into a lot of money."

Thorne had to admit that he was rather impressed. So impressed, in fact, that he was now considering keeping her around just a little longer. Sure, he was used to being a one man operation, but having a hacker around for things like this almost eliminated the need to steal in the first place. It surprisingly hadn't taken him long to convince Cress that if _she_ were the one to take the money—and for the good cause of helping them both to escape—well, then it wasn't really the same thing as Thorne stealing the Rampion or a jewel necklace. He'd even pointed out some of the dirty transactions that this particular bank had done in the past few years to swindle its investors out of money. That had helped his case immensely. And Cress, despite only agreeing to 20,000 univs, had now kept up her side of the bargain, as he'd suspected she would with the right amount of coaxing. Now he just had to reinsert his ID chip, which wasn't something he was looking forward to. He would see to that task later, so Cress wouldn't see how squeamish he actually got. It had been hard enough to keep a calm face when he'd removed it only an hour earlier.

He pocketed the chip. "Perfect. Okay, your turn."

The confidence on her face vanished. "What do you mean?"

Thorne held up his knife and reached for her, but she jerked away. He was slightly offended. "I'm not going to hurt you. I got my chip out all right, didn't I?"

"I-I don't like blood."

So she was like him, then. He tried his best to be reassuring. "I'll be gentle, I promise."

Cress furiously pulled the sleeves of his hoodie as far over her hands as possible, then stared at him defiantly. "You're not touching me with that knife."

He frowned. "Cress, you've never done this before. It's important not to nick any veins."

He pocketed the knife so that she'd calm down and he could walk her through the process. Cress, however, stood up abruptly and tried to pass him. Suddenly suspicious, he grabbed her by the wrist, stopping her. "Not so fast, little lady."

She tried to pull away, but he gripped her wrist firmly and pulled it closer, pushing up her sleeve and inspecting her. His eyes narrowed. "Why don't you have an ID chip?"

"Um, my captors! They took it out," she said frantically, avoiding eye contact and still trying to pull away.

"You don't have a scar."

Cress' eyes widened, looking as if she'd been caught doing something very, very bad. She may have been an actress in her much-too-active-for-his-liking imagination, but she was certainly no good at pretending in real life.

"You're not a very good liar," he said, and released her.

Cress stumbled backward, tripped, and landed on the ground. "Ow."

Thorne observed her curiously as she rubbed her hip. He finally decided to sit down on the ground too. "Why didn't you just tell me that you never got a chip?"

"I was scared," she said quietly.

"You always act so tough," he said. "Well, except when you're looking at Luna." He chuckled, remembering her silly fear, but she hung her head. "Sorry, it was just a joke."

Her outburst was sudden, unexpected: "I was kidnapped by Lunars when I was a baby, okay?"

"I—Lunars?"

"Yes, Lunars!" Cress was angry. Sad. Embarassed?

"I've never heard of such a thing. What in the name of stars would Lunars want with an Earthen baby?"

She looked away. "Experimentation."

Thorne balked. "What the—?"

"I should get back to work," she said, her voice cool and business-like. "I'm hoping to deflect some more satellites inside Earth's atmosphere. I have a lot to do before we land if we're going to arrive undetected. I'm sure you have things to do as well in preparation."

"Well, yes," he said slowly, "I do think I've figured out a place where we can temporarily store the Rampion, but…"

"But what?" Cress got up and sat back down in her chair. He took the seat next to her.

"We'll still have to get you an ID chip. You'll need it if you are ever going to go off on your own."

"You could just abandon me the second we land. That'll make things a lot easier."

"I'll make sure you get a chip first," he said.

She began again with her coding, but Thorne's mind whirred. It was true; the thought had already crossed his mind several times. With the new information of her being chip-less, it would make it even easier to just leave her behind. And yet, the idea of abandoning a girl who had been ripped away from her home as a baby by _Lunars_ made him crazy. Where had she been kidnapped from? How had the Lunars found her? What kind of experimentation had they done?Something bothered him about the whole situation too—she said she'd been born "different" and that's why they'd taken her. Could her family have given her up voluntarily? The whole thing made him shudder.

Worse now was his nagging conscience and his tendency to make bad decisions in moral dilemmas. Would he— _could he_ —live with himself if he just left her to fend for herself without knowing that she'd be okay? And what would her "being okay" entail anyway? She hadn't been willing to share her plans with him.

He decided for a question that wouldn't jumble his thought process even more. "So, Cress…" he trailed off.

"Yes?"

"When they experimented on you, they didn't, like, give you mind powers too, did they?"

A hesitation. "It doesn't work like that," she said softly.

"Be honest, are you brainwashing me right now?"

"Yes, Thorne," she said in a tone that he felt was very unlike the Cress he'd come to know. She swiveled in her chair and lifted her arms towards him, her voice now robotic. "You…will…obey…my…every…command…"

He stared at her. "I don't feel any different."

Cress dropped her arms and laughed. He cracked a smile too, because her laugh was something cute and almost magical, and…stars, magical? Was she indeed using Lunar tricks on him this very moment? He shut his eyes, checked himself, and realized he was just being an idiot all around. He had thought her laugh was cute the other day as well, hadn't he? It was just _Cress_ who was cute in general. That is, when she wasn't busy hating him, blackmailing him, being mad at him, or glaring at him.

He opened his eyes and saw that Cress had returned to her work. "Wait a minute. Does this mean that Lunars are after us?"

She shook her head but didn't turn around. "I checked recently. They haven't figured out I'm gone yet."

Thorne crossed his arms. "And when exactly did you do this?"

"While you were sleeping."

"Note to self: Cress sneaks around at night."

"It would have been boring for you," she said, not taking her eyes off of the giant netscreen on which she worked.

He surveyed it, saw how many different panels she had open, and couldn't help agreeing silently that she was probably right. "Do you think they'll come for you once they realize you're gone?"

"Yes."

He hesitated. "To kill you?"

"Yes."

Her posture now tense, a small part of him wanted to help her make those shoulders relax, but he knew those were dangerous thoughts.

* * *

Two days and one rocky landing later, Thorne told Cress to hide behind another spaceship as he casually stepped off the Rampion to pay the owner of the new hanger he was renting from. They had strategically located one that was near a shopping outlet not too far from the center of the city. This would mean that there would be a lot of video surveillance in the area, but a large cargo ship like the Rampion would not be inconspicuous if there were not a lot of other air traffic as well. The shopping outlet would also help them get new disguises. Thus, once Cress had slipped out safely and he'd exited through the main doorway, they met at the entrance to the outlet.

It was rather large, even for him. He'd spent his fair share of time shopping, as he rather did enjoy certain luxuries. These days, he did most of shopping on the net, though, and had it sent to the address where he was currently staying. It was easier that way. After learning more about Cress' past, though, he was sure she appreciated having the in-person experience. And by the look on her face now, he felt content that he'd chosen to do something selflessly for once. Sort of. He still had to make sure no one recognized her, and then subsequently managed to recognize him.

As they walked down the first corridor to scope out the shops, Cress suddenly leaned against the wall and clutched her chest, looking as though she were hyperventilating.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She took some steady breaths. "I just can't believe I'm really on Earth!" More breaths. "Not on a satellite!" A final, deep inhale and exhale. "Free!"

Thorne grinned. "Probably a little overwhelming, I'd imagine, but isn't freedom beautiful?"

She smiled back. "Beautiful. Yes, yes it is. And it's all so…big!"

"Well, not for you," he joked, "you're probably a small, if not a petite."

"Oh, right," she said, pushing off against the wall. Her cheeks were flushed and her excitement seemed to be taking over. "What should I buy? What should I wear?"

He took her by the arm, and she didn't put up any resistance. He ushered her into the first store on their right. "Most importantly, we want you looking like a normal girl, right? Not that someone couldn't get away with this outfit"—he waved at her clothes—"but you're really easy to pick out in a crowd right now, and we can't have that. Let's go look at some of the newest fashionable items that have arrived."

Cress bubbled over and chatted excitedly at everything they passed. When they reached the clothes for women, Cress burst into a sprint to reach the racks faster. He shook his head but caught up with her quickly.

"Whoa, slow down there, sweetheart."

He mentally kicked himself, but then breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't say anything about the term of endearment she had forbidden him to use. It had just slipped out. Luckily, she seemed too distracted to notice.

"Listen. I have to go take care of some business, but how about you pick out some things, and I'll meet you in an hour."

This made her look up from the clothes. "An hour?"

"Not enough time?" he asked.

"Oh—no, it's fine. I just didn't think you were leaving."

"I'll be back," he said.

"Thorne?"

"Yes?"

Cress looked at him a bit shyly. "What do I, um, do with the clothes?"

He scratched his chin. "Right, you've never been shopping. So there are changing booths where you can try things on, and there are android associates who put your clothes on the side until I come back to pay for them. They can also recommend different styles to you." He considered for a moment before adding, "don't forget about shoes."

Cress nodded. "Okay."

"Now, if you decide to go lingerie shopping, I'd be more than happy to make suggestions in _that_ department." Cress' cheeks burned and he laughed a little too mischievously. "Just kidding. Maybe. See you in a bit."

When he returned to the store a little more than an hour later, he found Cress in the cosmetics section. She had chosen the type of cheap mascara and eyeliner that ran at the drop of a hat. He knew from experience. "Not that brand," he said.

She eyed her make-up and then him. "How do you know about this stuff?"

He decided to leave out the details. "I just do." He stuffed one hand in his pocket and waited while she browsed the different options. An android associate was making its rounds and would likely offer to help her. While the android might have memorized the different matching hue tones and make-up textures, it wasn't human. Nor a man. It couldn't recognize a girl's real beauty beyond the planes and angles it had been mathematically programmed to recognize as someone with a pleasing face or body.

Thorne cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. "Don't get the make-up. It's not worth it."

She was crushed; he could see it in her features right away. "But—you said—all the girls have this."

"You don't need it," he said, trying to keep a steady tone.

"I just want to be normal."

Her eyes were slowly melting his brain, he decided, because their sadness would force him to betray with his lips what he had been trying to mask with a casual attitude. Only she didn't get it.

"You don't need it," he repeated, "because you're pretty enough without it."

Cress looked like she were about to cry. "No one's ever called me pretty before."

Thorne shrugged off her comment. "Nah, you're a looker. You'll get lots of compliments from now on."

"Thank you…Captain."

Thorne suddenly became speechless. It was the first time she had ever called him by the title he preferred. He felt as though it signified something. Like maybe he had finally earned the smallest bit of trust from her. Or maybe she just really needed to receive more compliments. Either way, he'd take it.

* * *

The title of Captain didn't last long, though, because as soon as she found out that he had rented only one hotel room for the night, her disgust for him became quite apparent.

"Cress, stop making such a big deal out of this. It doesn't make any sense to waste money on two hotel rooms."

"But there's a bed in this room!"

Thorne gasped dramatically. "Who knew that hotel rooms came with beds?"

She really loved that particular comment of his, apparently, because she glared at him like she was the sun itself. "I _mean_ , there's only _one_ bed."

He just grinned. "Oh, that. Yes I am hoping that you don't hog all the space. I need my beauty sleep."

Cress practically threw off her shoes and stormed into the bathroom with all of her clothes. Thorne collapsed onto the bed. Shopping was exhausting. And as much as he loved the Rampion, he had to admit that he much preferred real beds to bunk beds. Sighing, he picked himself up again and began sorting through his own shopping bag for something comfortable to sleep in. He changed quickly, lest she come out and take him by surprise, and then he started re-arranging the extra pillows on the bed.

He tried to stay awake to say goodnight to Cress, but he finally gave up and succumbed to sleep. Maybe she would just sleep in the bathroom. He didn't care anymore.

When he woke up later that night, he saw that Cress had finally joined him in the bed. She slept soundly on the other side of the barrier that he had made earlier with the pillows so that she could have her own space. He noticed, though, that she wasn't using the blanket, as there was only one and she probably didn't like that he was already underneath it. She had wrapped herself protectively in some of the new clothes they'd bought. He slipped out of bed quietly, and gently peeled away the extra clothes. Then he covered her entirely with the blanket; he could sleep without it. He hesitated, and then finally bent over to give her a ghost of a kiss on the cheek.

Maybe he did care after all.


	10. Chapter 10

Small but bright rays of sunlight forced Thorne to finally open his eyes. He'd been snoozing for a while, unwilling to begin a new day as he basked in the comfort of the wonderful hotel mattress. There was a small humming noise coming from somewhere in the room, and its melody had practically lulled him back to sleep every time he had felt even the slightest urge to wake up. Letting out a yawn, he stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles. He blinked a few times, and then finally focused his eyes on where the humming was coming from.

Cress was sitting in the corner of the room in front of the netscreen, absorbed in several different windows that were on display. Her cropped hair was pulled back into an impossibly short ponytail, making little wisps fall over a dangly earring and across the side of her face. She was no longer wearing his clothes, having swapped them for some of the more fashionable items she had purchased yesterday. Thorne had seen all the outfits she'd chosen and imagined what she would look like in them when he'd paid for everything yesterday, but his own thoughts hadn't done them justice. The crimson skirt she wore landed right above her knees, and Thorne realized that he'd never seen her bare legs before, thanks to his over-sized sweatpants and the strange dress she'd worn when he'd first found her on the satellite. They were pale, moderately toned, and very slender. Sitting down, they made her look slightly taller than she actually was because there was no fabric swallowing her up. The black shirt she wore was tighter than anything he'd seen her in either, and if he had been in this situation with a different girl, he probably would have whistled.

She looked _good_.

Still, this was Cress, who seemed to have a more delicate disposition than the other girls he'd spent any significant amount of time with. He thought of several other smart remarks, but eventually just decided to hold his tongue and enjoy the view. And music. Whatever tune she was humming, it was beautiful. It almost made him want to fall asleep again. Thorne pulled himself into a seated position, though, his hands behind his head, and waited for her to notice him. She didn't. After he started feeling slightly creepy for continuing to stare at her, he finally cleared his throat loudly.

Cress jumped in her chair, a hand flying to her chest. "Stars! I didn't know you were awake."

He had to put a little more effort than he would have liked into giving her a lazy, sleepy grin. "Good morning to you too. You sleep okay?"

Cress turned face him, her features nervous. Maybe she was still mad at him? She folded her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry that I was mean to you yesterday, Thorne." Thorne's eyes widened, an apology the last thing he had expected her to spit out. "You were right. Sharing a bed wasn't as horrible as I made it out to be. Thank you for the barrier you made, and the blanket. Both of those gestures were…really decent."

"I'm nothing if not decent," he said, but he winked at her.

"I mean, they were kind," she continued. "You didn't have to do either of those things, especially after I practically yelled at you."

"It's okay," he said, shrugging, "I could have warned you ahead of time."

She nodded, but her face remained somewhat serious. "I guess what I'm trying to say is…being around you really hasn't been as terrible as I initially imagined. I should remember that. And you did get me off of the satellite and to Earth, as I requested."

He couldn't help smirking. "Dream fulfillment is my specialty."

"That's exactly what you said you _didn't_ do when we first met," she said.

Thorne stretched his legs out from under the blanket and stood up. He approached her, studying her facial expressions carefully. He still wasn't certain if he could read her correctly. "I was joking, Cress," he said softly. "I'm definitely still not in the hero business."

"Oh," she said. A blush crept its way up her cheeks and she averted her gaze. He continued to look down at her, though, wondering if she was still slightly scared of him. When she looked back up at him, she seemed overwhelmed again, just as she had at the mall. Cress got up from her chair and walked to the window, her back to him. She stared out at the view, which Thorne himself had to admit was a perk of this particular hotel.

"Everything is so new. I'm part excited to be here, but mostly I'm just terrified! I'm trying to hide it, trying to be strong, but I think I'm failing."

Thorne came to stand by her. "No way. From what I've seen, you're strong and _very_ determined."

She shook her head. "Determined maybe, but not strong. Just afraid. Always afraid. I tried so hard to get here and now that I am, everything terrifies me, like I said. This city does, its people, the freedom of it all, you…"

"So you're still scared of me then," he commented, answering his own doubts.

Her fingers trailed against the curtain as she continued to gaze upon downtown Paris. "I'm trying to tell myself that not everyone is here to hurt me. I used to believe everyone was good. But then no one came and helped me, and I got used to being treated badly by my captors. I think I forgot that there were good people out there, after what they did to me. I got so excited at the prospect of having someone—you—help me off the satellite that I built up my hope again." She glanced at him for a second and let out a small laugh. "As you know, many of my hopes were based on the dramas. But when you showed up and weren't what I expected, all my hope shattered again."

"Cress, that's a lot of pressure to put on one person."

"I know," she said. "I'm still grappling with that. I'm here on Earth and away from everything that I wanted to escape from. I made it." She pivoted in his direction and finally looked at him full on. " _We_ made it."

"High five?" he asked.

"What's that?" she said.

He chuckled. "Nothing."

"Thank you, Thorne," she said shyly. "For getting me here. I think that after this experience"—she hesitated and bit down on her lip—"maybe I should be a little more optimistic after all. Maybe I was right to believe that most people are good. And maybe I'm finally...learning to trust someone."

Thorne couldn't take his eyes off of her while she was looking at him like that—like he was a real person, not just a criminal, and moreover a _good_ person. Someone worthy of her respect. He was suddenly swimming in vast depths of her ocean blue eyes again, and he strained forward, overcome by the sudden desire to kiss those little lips of hers.

He pulled back and nudged her with his elbow instead. "Well, today is your lucky day, because I've decided to take some pity on you and help you."

"You mean you're not leaving me after all?"

"Oh, _now_ you want me to stay," he teased.

"I still need that ID chip," she said.

He walked briskly to the other side of the room and picked up his shopping bags. "Right. We can do that and just maybe, if you keep being nice to me, I'll show you how to enjoy a life of freedom. But first, I have to change my style a bit. We're in Paris now, and each new city requires a new look."

He sauntered into the bathroom with his bags and turned on the water in the tub. Cress joined him, to his surprise, and leaned against the door. "What are you going to do?"

Thorne pulled off his shirt. Cress' eyes nearly bulged out of her sockets as she took in his appearance. The thought of her appreciating his body made him quite proud of all the time he had put into making his muscles look sleek and toned. He bit down a smirk and turned back to his bags. "I've got to get the dye out of my hair first." He pulled the showerhead down and gestured for Cress. "Make yourself useful, will you?"

Cress grabbed the showerhead from him as he stepped into the tub. He noticed that her face was beet red as she continued to stare at some spot between his shoulder and chest. "Enjoying the view?"

"Huh?"

"You just checked me out," he said. Not that he would ever admit that he'd been doing precisely the same thing while she was working on the netscreen.

"I was not," she stammered, still red.

Thorne laughed as he turned on the water and then sat on the edge of the tub. "Just point it at my hair and I'll do the rest."

Cress pointed and he scrubbed his hair the best he could. He'd been through this routine a dozen times now, but it was significantly easier with another person to help him. Puddles of black water formed at the bottom of the tub and ran to the drain the more he worked on it. It took a long time, but Cress finally confirmed that his hair was no longer black. As he rubbed his hair dry with a towel, he peered at himself in the mirror. It was almost strange to see his normal hair color again.

"Well, since you already know what I look like anyway, not to mention probably every private detail about my life…" Thorne pulled out the useless colored contacts and threw them into the trash. "Captain Carswell Thorne, at your service." He gave her his best heart-stopping grin.

Cress, however, gave him one right back. Aces, this girl too cute for her own good.

And his.

Something about her was making him lose his confidence, because with any other girl he would have just gone in for a kiss without any second thought. But it was the second time this morning that Thorne behaved atypically, and it bothered him. He was used to taking what he wanted, and he didn't see why this should be any different. She clearly thought he was attractive too, after all. Or was she just impressed because it was the first time she'd seen a shirtless guy? He shook the thought, deciding to follow his instincts and just go for it when Cress interrupted his thought stream.

"I like you better like this," she said, and walked out of the bathroom.

"See? I'm not ugly after all!" he called after her. He still remembered how she'd mocked him on the satellite about his appearance and how it had rubbed him the wrong way, even if he hadn't admitted it. He sighed as he searched his bags for the boxes of different colored contact samples. A pair of glasses were in the bag too, which he'd purchased just to see if that might switch up his look a bit. He'd deal with that once he had re-dyed his hair whatever color would suit him this month. Perhaps blonde? He supposed it didn't matter. He was good-looking and he knew it—even if he had to disguise the natural features that the stars had gifted him.

That was just the price of freedom.


	11. Chapter 11

Thorne's hand encased Cress' wrist, but unlike the time he had grabbed her quite forcefully on the Rampion, a small tingle of anticipation shot up her arm and down to her spine as he prodded her skin with the index finger of his other hand.

"I think this is a good spot," he said, making an imaginary X on her wrist. "Keep your finger here while I get the knife and some of the disinfectant we bought."

Cress nodded, the tingly feeling gone and her nervousness beginning to creep up on her instead. She was used to getting her blood drawn from Sybil each month, but besides getting a few scrapes and bruises from falling in the satellite, she had never cut into her skin. Thorne's wrist seemed to be doing fine since his own incision only a few days before. She'd seen him handle the knife quite a few times too in other situations. He had a steady hand, and she trusted that he wouldn't hurt her now.

It was a strange feeling, trusting him. It was coming more naturally to her as each day went by, though. They were friends now. Confidants.

Or something.

She hated giving in to the thought, but it was getting harder and harder to deny the fact that she had developed a little crush on Carswell Thorne. She wasn't exactly sure when it started—maybe just since they'd been on Earth. It was pretty stupid to be involved with him in any way, let alone develop feelings for him. She should have ditched him the second she got to Earth. But the fact that he didn't want to ditch _her_ made something in her heart hitch. It was kind of sweet that he cared enough to want to help her to acclimate. And, if she were honest with herself, she definitely needed some help in that department. He also had all the money on his ID chip. Granted, he knew that she could probably hack into his account and steal all of the money back, but he could have still tried to leave her behind.

Something was keeping him here, and a tiny part of her hoped that maybe he had a crush on her too. He did look at her sometimes with something she could only imagine was desire. Now that she had new clothes and a more stylish haircut, she thought her reflection looked pretty good too. Then again, what did she really know about relationships or crushes or desire? Or the way a guy looked at a girl when he was interested? Maybe she was just mixing up feelings of desire with the way friendship was supposed to feel. After all, it wasn't like she'd had a real human friend since she'd been trapped on the satellite anyway. Maybe that was all that this was.

She had learned the hard way that net dramas were nothing but fake, so they couldn't be trusted for comparison either.

Neither of them had been particularly nice to the other on the Rampion, but the last few days on Earth had made her feel much more connected to him. Almost as if they had an understanding. Even sharing a bed wasn't so bed anymore, since he had surprised her by being considerate even though she had assumed the worst of him. Perhaps the stress of trying to escape the satellite had just brought out the bad side of both of them. And now that they didn't have to be so stressed anymore, they could see that they actually got along and maybe even liked each other.

When she stopped looking at him as though he were just someone she had to put up with, Cress started to grow more attracted to him by the hour. The worst of it was that he probably already knew she was attracted to him. She hated the way her face always gave away her emotions. While she'd never thought that Thorne was ugly—even though she'd told him that just to spite him—his blue eyes, dimpled smile, and brown hair with small streaks of dirty blonde did make him look rather appealing. And when she'd seen him without his shirt on…well, all sorts of fantasies had suddenly infiltrated her mind.

It was silly, really, and he'd caught her looking. She'd denied it, of course, but she was a terrible liar, and the smirk on his face had made her blush even more.

He looked pretty good today, too, dressed casually with jeans that hung around his hip bones and a white t-shirt that fit rather snugly. He liked to stretch his arms a lot, and every time he did, the shirt lifted just enough to showcase the abdominal muscles she'd been practically mesmerized by when she helped him clean his hair. She had to look away often. He'd also begun sporting glasses when they went out in public, though surprisingly enough he'd decided to leave his eyes blue for the moment. He thought the blonde highlights he'd added were enough for now. Her mouth got a little dry whenever he ran his hands through his hair, which was also rather frequently. As if he knew exactly how to make her feel nervous around him.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't just a _little_ crush.

But she needed to delete those thoughts from her mind, because staying around Carswell Thorne in _any_ manner could surely only bring her trouble and heartache in the end.

Still, they were here now, together, and he was helping her install her first Earthen ID chip. It was thrilling yet terrifying. Soon she would be just like everyone else on the beautiful blue planet. And she could begin again.

"This is probably going to sting a little," said Thorne. He kneeled in front of her as she sat frozen to the desk chair, her wrist dangling across her lap again. His bright eyes met her with a slightly apologetic face. "Are you ready?"

She took a deep breath. "Y-yes."

He squinted at her. "Real convincing, Cress."

"Sorry." She squirmed in her seat and shook out her hands. Her palms were getting sweaty, so she quickly wiped them on her pants.

"Gross," he said, but she was pretty sure he was teasing, so she laughed it off.

"Okay, okay. I'm ready."

"You lost the spot!" he said. _Oops._ He let the knife clatter to the ground before grabbing her hands. "It's going to be fine, Cress," he said sternly. He felt around her wrist again, and within seconds he placed her finger over the right spot. "Keep your finger here."

Thorne picked up the knife and got to work immediately. He was right; it did sting. She winced a little but kept as still as possible, hoping it would be over soon. Putting the chip in hurt the most, like a small invasion under skin. She snuck a glance at Thorne and saw that he looked slightly pale.

"Is…everything okay?" she asked, almost afraid. Maybe he had hit something important, and she was dying, and he didn't know how to tell her she had seconds to live. Probably it would hurt more if that were the case, though, she hoped.

"Uh, yeah, it's fine." He grimaced. "I'm not a huge fan of blood, honestly. There's not much, though. Okay, now grab the needle on the desk, quickly." Cress grabbed it. "This part hurts the worst," he said. "But then it's done."

She nodded as he dropped the knife once again with his free hand, the other one pressed firmly over the gash on her wrist. He took the needle and quickly began to stitch her skin closed, not showing any mercy, just trying to get it done. A small tear squeezed its way out of the corner of her eye as he made the three small but painful stitches. Thorne had said that she would probably be fine without them considering how small the cut was, but they had decided not to take any chances with infection. Still, the big bottle of disinfectant from the pharmacy seemed to be overdoing it quite a bit. Thorne said cleanliness was really important though, and that germs on Earth would be much different than what she had been exposed to on the satellite.

"Gauze," he said. She passed it to him, and soon her wrist was wrapped tightly. He paused when he was done, taking her wrapped hand into both of his. "How does it feel?"

"It's fine," she said, and wiped away the tear that was still left on her cheek.

"You're official now!" he said. His handsome face lit up with a smile that made Cress want to melt, and he jumped to his feet. "We should celebrate."

"Maybe we could start that celebration by you giving me half of the univs," she said.

He crossed his arms as he towered over her. "Money on your mind, huh?"

She crossed her own arms, wincing slightly as her bandaged wrist brushed against her ribcage. "A deal's a deal," she said.

He listed his head, considering her. "What about a 75-25 split? I did rescue you, after all."

"You are not backing out of this!"

Thorne laughed and reached out for her hand. "I'm just joking," he said. "I remember our deal."

She took his hand and he helped her get up, but she kept a suspicious look on her face just to make sure he didn't think she could be easily fooled.

"Speaking of money, though," he said, "I've had a thought as to how we could make a few extra bucks around here and teach you how to be a little more independent."

She brightened. "Really?"

"Now, I know you said that you have an issue with _stealing_ , but..." He rubbed his hands together excitedly, a lock of hair falling into his face as a mischievous grin tilted one side of his lips. "How do you feel about pickpocketing?"


	12. Chapter 12

Surprisingly, Cress hadn't objected too strongly to his idea of teaching her how to pickpocket. Solemn-faced, he had assured her that this technique was only to be used in _dire emergencies_ , of course. It was for her own survival once they were separated, particularly if she didn't manage to land a job right away. He'd worked on her for almost two weeks, flattering her—flattery often did the trick, he'd found—about her tracking and hacking skills. She had beamed and stated that she had always wanted to be a part of law enforcement.

Thorne had given her a thumbs up while snickering on the inside. Poor girl. She was too upstanding for her own good. He supposed he admired her somewhat for some of her convictions, though, despite what had happened to her in her past. That was why he was helping her though, he told himself. She needed to learn to exist on her own, and they'd come to some sort of understanding about helping each other out just a little while longer. It was a bit odd for him; besides having someone know his real identity, it had been far too long since he'd spent so much time with someone on an individual basis.

They had been traveling on the local maglev train around Paris for about three hours. The first hour, Thorne made Cress just sit and observe people. She had no problem doing that, in fact he continued to be amazed at how amazed _Cress_ was by all the people around her. Beyond giddy to be on a train for the first time, she constantly pointed at people and said things to Thorne like, "look, it's a baby!" and "that couple is in _love_!"

He'd had to teach her not to point. Also not to talk so loudly. He'd felt a little bad when he'd told her that he didn't want her to focus on the fact that there were actual _ordinary humans_ on the train, because her face fell and she looked at her shoes as though she were in trouble. Cress did that a lot, he realized—it was as though he'd caught her in some big secret or something. She really needed to loosen up.

"I want you to focus on people's behaviors, what they're wearing, and how they guard their possessions," he'd said.

Cress squinted at everyone after that, as if taking notes inside her head. Biting her lip in concentration, he sat back into his chair and grinned at her. He had purposely chosen the part of the train where the seats were open and faced each other. Plus, he hadn't wanted to shell out their precious univs for a better seat.

Currently, Cress was staring in the other direction at an elderly woman who had several bags with her. Thorne immediately noticed the amount of elegant jewelry that adorned her otherwise bland outfit. She was probably trying to look fancier than she actually was. He had seen that sort of thing in L.A. all the time growing up. His pretentious parents had often brought him along to mandatory social events. Though his parents had more money than necessary, other people in their social groups weren't always so lucky. But, he'd noticed, if one wore flashy and expensive jewelry, it was easier to hide the fact that everything underneath was perhaps not so well put together.

"Back in the day, people used to actually carry money on their person, can you believe it?" he said.

Cress' eyes turned back to him, wider than usual. "How?"

"It was before we had our technological revolution. Now we just swipe our wrists and"—he snapped his fingers—"everything is instantaneous. You can bet that put a whole lot of pickpockets out of business."

"How?" she asked again.

He unclipped his port from his belt. "See how I keep this in front of me at all times?"

"Yes."

"A highly skilled pickpocket could still steal my port, but it's messier. There's too many ways to track portscreens back to their owners." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Something I'm sure you know all about." When she didn't reply, he stood and shoved his port into his back jeans pocket. It was a bit bulky, and clearly not made to go in there, but it would serve his purpose well enough. He turned away from her. "Try to take it out."

Several seconds passed but nothing happened, so he glanced over his shoulder to see a beet-faced Cress looking at her hands, not even attempting to steal from him. "What?"

"They're near…um," she gestured wildly while looking in the complete opposite direction.

His shoulders shook with laughter. "Well yeah, Cress. That's the point. Men in particular used to keep their wallets—that was a device that carried physical money—in their back pockets. If you were a skilled pickpocket, you could take it out of my pocket without me even noticing."

"I don't think I'm skilled," she said.

Thorne chuckled and tugged on a strand of her hair. "It's your first time. It takes practice." She looked up at him, hopeful. "Admittedly, also a certain amount of dexterity, misdirection, and skill."

"I am a pickpocket," she whispered.

"There are many different kinds of pickpockets, though, Cress. And obviously, we don't steal money anymore unless we're hackers." He beamed at her. "Hey, you're like a Third Era pickpocket, you ever thought of that?"

Cress rolled her eyes, blushing again. "I am not."

"Pickpocketing when you don't have hacking skills is all about opportunity. You've been watching these people for a few hours, and by now you should have a mark in mind. Even people who don't have a lot of skill can take advantage of opportunity." He nudged her and tipped his head towards a young man who was sitting by the front of the car. "What do you notice about that guy?"

She furrowed her brow in concentration. "He's reading something on his port."

"Good. So what is he not doing?" he encouraged.

"He's…not watching his bag?"

"Exactly. Now if you look even more closely, you'll see that he didn't zip his bag quite as well as he should have. The third zipper has a bit of a gap."

"So you just reach in there and take something?"

He shrugged. "Ideally, you'll want to target someone who you know has something of value in his bag. But in this case, yes, you could simply sit nearby and surreptitiously reach into his backpack."

"But what if you take something that's really important to him?"

"If you're in dire need, Cress, what's really important to him could be even more important to you if you could get a good price for it." He nudged her again. "Good thing you've already got some univs in your stolen bank account."

Cress began twirling her hair around her finger, something he had come to learn that she did when she was nervous, in deep thought, or flustered. It reminded him of how only a few weeks ago when he'd met her, she had been a tangled mess of hair that reached the floor. This look was definitely much better on her.

"Think of it this way, Cress. If someone is stupid enough to make themselves vulnerable, why not take advantage of it? Remember: opportunity. If you can remember that, then you won't even have to touch your mark or something close to the mark's body. And if you do have to touch them, you make it nonthreatening." He nodded, thoughtful. "For example, flirtatious touches are okay. They distract the mark. Unless it's offensive, which naturally wouldn't be okay."

"Flirtatious touches?"

"Never underestimate the power of an attractive person brushing his shoulder against you or making deep, soul-searching eye contact. People usually focus their attention on one thing, so if you make yourself interesting enough that they only want to focus on you, well, they won't pay attention to their valuables."

He chuckled, knowing that he had used this particular tactic far too many times himself. It was as he had told Cress: opportunity. If a girl was taken by his charms, why shouldn't he take advantage of that situation? There was no way he was telling Cress that, though. She would probably say something condescending and stop calling him Captain if she knew he did that. He was taken aback, then, when she piped up, "Can you show me?"

"Um—which part, exactly?"

"Distract someone by flirting."

"Now?"

"Why not?" she asked.

"I don't think this car is crowded enough," he said. "And we've been sitting together for too long. It would raise suspicions."

"Let's go into another car then."

Thorne shifted uncomfortably. Maybe he had just underestimated her, or maybe it was a trap. He hadn't done anything dishonest since he'd met her. Well, that she could have known about. If he did it, would she then go on and on about his lack of morals again? They were finally beginning to trust each other—if such a thing could even really exist between them. Did he really trust her not to turn him in, or was he really helping her now just so that she wouldn't feel the need to?

Finally, deciding for once to err on the side of caution, he said, "Are you going to be mad at me later if I do this?"

"No."

He studied her. She looked innocent enough. "Okay, then. Stay a good distance behind me—at least a car. When you enter the same car as me, sit by the door. Pretend to be interested in other things. When I leave, you get off at the next stop, got it?"

"Okay."

Thorne left her and casually walked through the connected cars as the train wound a steep corner, observing everyone around him. It was a rush to be amidst all these people again after being stuck on the Rampion with only the girl. Sure, he'd been in the mall and walked around their hotel the last two weeks since they'd landed, but he hadn't been pressed up against other people, reading them, finding their weaknesses. Now he just needed to find his mark. He continued meandering through the throngs of people and occasional android, before he finally shoved his way into a particularly crowded section.

Scanning the vicinity for just a second, he smiled victoriously into the collar of his jacket. There she was—his mark. The girl, probably seventeen or eighteen, was quite attractive. And by the looks of her fierce brown eyes and stern gaze, she would definitely put up resistance to a stranger flirting with her. If he were actually interested in her, his ego might not have wanted to accept that fact, but the girl he was trying to impress wasn't actually the one standing in front of him. Her irritation to his advances would be helpful in his attempt to pickpocket her. If she focused her energy on trying to reject him, she wouldn't be thinking about her valuables, just as he had told Cress. Then again, if he played his cards right, maybe this girl wouldn't be immune to his charms like he expected. Interested or not, his ego could always use a boost.

Thorne managed to squeeze past more people until he was holding on to the same pole as she was. Four other people were crowded in the same area, making it nearly impossible for him not to brush against her even if he hadn't purposely been trying to do so. "Bonjour mademoiselle," he said, a little too close even for his own comfort.

Her smile was non-existent and as expected, he received no reply. He concentrated on the netscreen news until an opportune moment. When the maglev train shook slightly, he pretended to lose his balance and bumped heads with her lightly. "So sorry," he said, his smile apologetic.

"Watch where you're going." The European accent intrigued him almost as much the ginger-red curls that hung in front of her eyes.

"Well," he said, "if it means I'm going to bump into someone like you again, I may decide not to take that advice."

She put her hands on her hips, but then reached out for the pole again just as quickly. Her bag clung from two fingers, and what looked like a box of vegetables sat stashed between her legs. "Excuse me?"

"It's not every day that I meet such a beautiful woman."

He grinned cockily, but the girl frowned and moved her hand down the pole, further away from his own. "If you think flirting with me is going to get you anywhere, you are severely mistaken."

 _Oh, but it already had._ The glittering accessory he had swiped from her hair was burning a hole into his fisted free hand. "I did make a mistake," he said. "I mistook you for someone who was smart."

The fierce gaze turned steely. He counted her freckles, noting how they swept across her nose in a different way from the way Cress' did. He had only made it to ten when she took his bait again. "What would you know about how smart I am?"

He graced her with a smile that he knew she would read as slightly wistful but still condescending. "A smart woman would have recognized what a catch I am from the first moment she laid eyes on me." The guy standing on the other side of her let out a cough as Thorne detached himself from the pole before she could respond. Highly pleased with himself, he strode in the opposite direction of where he knew Cress had entered and continued on through the cars.

When he had reached the car with the bar, he slipped the small clip with the shiny stone into his coat pocket casually. The maglev train whirred as it came to its next stop, and Thorne practically danced off of the train. Maybe when he explained to Cress about how he had taken it when he had bumped into the girl, he could tell her about how they could even con future marks as a team. He could be the distraction and Cress could do the dirty work—or the other way around. Whatever she felt the most comfortable with.

He passed the stairs to connect to another track and waited, slightly hidden, for Cress to exit the train. Only when the passengers had all descended and the train left, Cress was nowhere in sight. Glancing around for blonde hair but only met with a vacant platform, Thorne hurried down the stairs. Maybe she had passed him without him noticing. Unlikely, but his waiting spot hadn't been obvious on purpose, just in case the girl with the vegetables had decided to get off at the same spot.

Thorne took a right hand turn at the bottom of the stairs, beneath the tracks, noting the destination announcements he passed. They must be at a central station, since one could take a long-distance train into the French countryside and pass through the borders to the United Kingdom. Maybe Cress was trying to stay inconspicuous for some reason, and he'd find her waiting for him at the station exit. She'd never been to this part of Paris—yes, that was probably it. She'd want to get a glimpse of what it looked like.

Cress was not there waiting for him, though. No big deal, she had obviously just missed the stop. Turning on his heels, he headed back to the lonely platform to wait for her there. She could get the next train back. Surely if she were smart enough to hunt him down in New Beijing from a satellite up in space then she could figure out a train schedule, couldn't she? Doubt crawled up when he remembered her bewilderment at the mall, but that had been her first day among human beings. She had acclimated more now; he'd made sure of that.

Thorne waited for two hours until he finally came to the conclusion that Cress was definitely not going to show up. Six trains had come and gone. At first, he'd been worried; maybe something had happened to her. But as more time passed, he began to wonder if maybe she had taken this opportunity to escape him. If he were her, he certainly would have done that. Stars, he had been an idiot. Of course she would leave. She had probably just been pretending to have a decent time with him since they'd arrived in Paris. All of her blushing and mumbling when they slipped into that same hotel bed with the pillow barriers every night had just been a show. And now she had a train ticket to last her the rest of the day and enough univs to give her a fresh start.

He would have applauded her for her deception if he wasn't a bit unsettled about how easily he had fallen for her innocence. Not knowing her motives, he'd definitely have to remove the ID chip in his wrist again. She knew his fake European name and his fake bank account in Australia. She'd set the whole thing up, after all. And she didn't even have a port that _he_ could track. They hadn't bothered to buy her one yet—she'd been preoccupied enough with the netscreen in their hotel room. Now he regretted it.

Hands splayed out on the bench he'd been warming for far too long, he nodded at the brisk wind that rustled his hair. Perhaps watching those spy dramas had actually paid off, because Cress had totally played him.


	13. Chapter 13

It had started raining by the time he exited the maglev train. He trudged along, not caring that the downpour was soaking him to the bone. The two blocks back to the hotel seemed longer without Cress chattering excitedly beside him about all of her _observations._

He'd already commed one of his connections for a new ID chip. It would take at least two days to arrive from the dealer, so he'd need to get everything in order before then. At the top of the checklist on his port was to decide where to travel to next, followed closely by how he would make sure that Cress couldn't track him wherever he went. His instincts told him that she wouldn't betray him, that she just wanted to get away and be free, but he wasn't sure what he knew anymore.

Once he made it to the hotel, he sloshed his way up the stairs, ignoring the irritated concierge and the staff android who offered him a towel. What he needed was a long bath, not a measly little towel. His grumbled thoughts halted, though, when he turned down the hallway towards his room.

The door was slightly ajar. Hair standing up on his arms, he threw himself back silently against the wall. He had locked the door before leaving this morning, he was sure of it. They had specifically chosen no room service for the duration of their stay to maintain their privacy. But someone had been in his room—was possibly still in there.

He inched forward, reaching his right hand behind him to grab his gun. It certainly wasn't the police in there, because he'd had many run-ins with them, and it wasn't their style to leave a door open. No, this was the work of an amateur thief or worse, someone who wanted to send him a message. If the person was still in his room, he would not let him escape. He did not need to worry about a second liability that could be tracking him.

Silently, he cursed not having run through the rain. His water-logged boots would make him sloppier in an escape. Thorne pressed his ear against the door before he nudged it open with his foot. It was quiet, save the fan in the bathroom. Gun at the ready, he slipped in, the floorboards not even making the slightest sound as they gave way to his weight.

Someone had made a mess of the room. The pillow barrier had been stripped off the bed, thrown carelessly to the side by the chair Cress sat in every morning. Clothes were strewn over the bed, some in heaps, others wrinkled and crumpled. The netscreen had been ripped off the wall, leaving a gaping hole. Its wires cut, it now rested face down on his side of the bed. Cress' bags were turned out all over the floor.

Finger poised on the trigger, he kicked open the door to the bathroom as hard as he could. There was a yell and a thud as it made it contact with whoever was inside, and he burst in. "Don't move or I'll shoot!" he roared.

Then he was pointing his barrel right at a petite blonde-haired girl that he knew quite well. She cowered on the ground of the bathroom, a hand pressed against her cheek, clearly in pain. "D-don't shoot. It's just me."

He nearly dropped the gun; it was _Cress_. Stashing it under his clothes again, Thorne fell to his knees before her. His hands were on her instantly, inspecting her as if he'd just shot her. "Let me see," he said, trying to remove her hand from her cheek.

She shook her head, tears already beginning to pool out of her eyes. "I t-think y-you broke my f-face," she whimpered.

He pried her fingers away gently, wincing at what he saw. There was a red gash across her right cheekbone, likely from where the door had hit her when he'd kicked it in. A welt was forming underneath it already. "Aces," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Sorry wasn't enough. He was disgusted with himself. "I thought you were long gone by now."

"It stings," she said. "And I feel dizzy."

He slipped his hand beneath her back and pulled her upright and into his chest, cradling her against him, making sure that it was her left cheek that touched him, not the injured one. She cried against him, and for the first time, he wasn't afraid of her tears. Then he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, not in the careless way he'd done when he'd first met her, but carefully in his arms. Desperate not to hurt her anymore.

He laid her down gently. "I'm going to get you some ice. Stay here."

She groaned and he ran out the door, back down the stairs. The concierge was no longer at her desk, but the staff android was thrilled to offer him another towel, which he took angrily, and then it pointed him in the direction of where he could find ice.

Scooping as much of it as he could in the towel, he ran back up stairs. "Here," he said, thrusting the ice inside one of the shirts that still lay rumpled on the bed and fastening it securely. "This will help."

He sat next to her and pressed the ice pack gingerly against her cheek. She winced at the impact.

"I know," he said, running a finger through her hair. "I know."

When she had calmed down, he stood awkwardly, wondering how long he'd been touching her in this way. He was confused too, about his guilt, about why she was there, about how he was relieved that she _was_ there.

"I think you'll agree with me when I say that you and I need to work on our communication," he said, pulling at his shirt. It was still dripping wet. "We should try to avoid this whole…you being sneaky and suspicious and me nearly killing you…scenario in the future." He had been trying to lighten the tension, though in reality it had been the third time that this had happened, so he added meekly, "Where were you, Cress?"

She sat up a little too quickly, eyes wide, before wincing again. "Ow." Thorne propped up some pillows for her to lean on, but she pushed them away. "There's no time," she said. "I have to get out of here. Someone was following me."

He sat down on the bed again, alarmed. "Who, Cress?"

"I don't know. I noticed him on the train. He was one of the people we were observing. About your age, blue hat pulled over his eyes?"

Thorne tried to remember everyone on the train, but he'd seen so many people pass him while waiting for her at the station that he doubted he would remember anyone but the red-head he'd flirted with.

"When I followed you into the other car, he followed me. At first I thought it was a coincidence but then he followed me again when I was going to exit the train." She dropped the ice pack. "Help me get up, I have to get out of here."

"Cress. Calm down. Maybe he just wanted to talk to you. You're a cute girl, remember?

"No. The more he watched me, the more I thought that I recognized something about him. I think he knows me, Thorne. I think…" She drew in a shaky breath and gripped his arm. "I think Sy—my captors sent him for me."

"Why didn't you just get off the train? Maybe I could have helped."

She shook her head fervently. "I'm not going to bring you into this mess. I thought if I didn't get off at the stop, he would forget about you. Maybe think it was just a coincidence that we were sitting next to each other before."

"But how could they have found us?" he said, helping her to her feet when it was evident that she would refuse to continue lying down.

"They're—" she hesitated. "Lunars, remember? They know things we don't. They have spies everywhere. _I have to leave_." Cress frantically began collecting the clothes on the bed, pushing them into messy heaps again.

"Cress, did he follow you here?" His voice was calm, but his brain was grappling with this information. The idea of Lunars on Earth was something that he had tried to get out of his mind since she'd first confessed who had kidnapped her all those years ago. But she'd been on a satellite, not Earth. How many of them were actually able to sneak into Earthen borders?

"I think I lost him near the Sacré-Coeur."

"That's on the opposite side of the city! How did you get over there?"

She started shoving the clothes into the bags on the floor, little by little. He bent to help her, worried that she would hurt herself with too much exertion. "I locked myself in the bathroom until the next stop. When I got out, so did he, so I just ran."

Thorne tried to imagine Cress running wildly through the winding streets of Paris, somehow ending up near the ancient basilica. It occurred to him that he had never bothered to think about just how panicked she must be at the thought of being caught again, which made him feel like a prize idiot. Of course she was terrified. They never would have met otherwise. The fear that was in her eyes when he'd first attacked her on the satellite must have been nothing compared to how she felt surrounded by Lunars.

He shuddered at the thought. He wasn't normally paranoid, but Lunars were a whole different class of fiends. And the thought of her back in their clutches made that familiar gutted feeling come back to his stomach. _She had said they would kill her if they ever found her again._

Thorne stood up and discarded the bag he was trying to fill. Cress was now talking to herself, doing that thing where she pretended to be some imaginary person that would give her the strength to continue. He now knew why she did it.

"I'm sorry again," he said, trying to pull her from her thoughts. "I really didn't— _don't_ —want to hurt you."

"I'm sorry too," she said, then started speaking fast. "I didn't want to leave you, but I thought you'd be here when I got back to the hotel room but then I wasn't sure if they'd taken you too and so I just started throwing everything together in case he had managed to find me here or had other people following you and _I didn't know what to do_ and I just—I _have_ to leave—"

"Hey," he said, resting his hands on her shoulders. She blinked up at him, and he stared back into those gorgeous, haunted, little oceans, trying to ignore the swelling and discoloration popping up on her cheek. "I understand." He hesitated, knowing he would probably regret the next words out of his mouth. "And that's why I'm coming with you."

"Really?"

"Really," he said with more conviction. She gripped his waist, startling him momentarily before he relaxed, letting her hug him. "Just next time, make sure you've shut the door properly, okay? I really did almost shoot you."

He could feel her grinning into his chest, and he couldn't help but smirk.

Then she pulled back and frowned. "By the way, why are you so wet?"


	14. Chapter 14

The timer on his portscreen ticked down second by second with a little pinging noise, driving Thorne crazy. Prior to meeting Cress, he had not been one to feel much anxiety, let alone panic. It seemed the more he spent time with this girl, however, the more his cool and collected persona was being challenged. The port was not helping.

Cress, of course, had set the timer, not him. He had not even known that his portscreen had a function like that, because he was stupid when it came to technology that didn't concern a spaceship. Even then—though he'd never admit it—he'd always hoped to have a pilot one day that could worry about all the controls and gadgets so that he could other captain-y things on board.

17:48…  
17:47…  
17:46…  
17:45…

He snatched the portscreen and thrust it into Cress' startled arms. "Turn that off. Now."

"This is important. In seventeen minutes and"—she checked the portscreen—"thirty-six seconds we need to be out the door."

"Cress, when I said that we needed to leave within the hour, I did not mean literally. And I can't think with all of that racket."

She started typing on the port and finally, finally, the pinging noise stopped. "I've muted it. Fair compromise?"

"Fine. Just don't make me look at it." He went back to packing and then paused in front of the netscreen, which was still lying upside down on the bed. "What exactly where you planning on doing with that? It's not exactly portable. Hence the _port_ screen."

Cress shook her head. "I need to destroy it. I can't have whoever followed me possibly come here and see what kinds of searches I've been doing."

He crossed his arms. "And what kind of searches have you been doing, exactly?"

"Um."

The guilt on her face was so painful it nearly made him laugh. The next lesson he would give her would be to hide her emotions better. He watched her squirm and search for an excuse with shifty eyes for all of ten seconds before he dropped his arms. "Nevermind. But the cost of the destroyed netscreen is coming out of your part of the univs," he added.

Without the portscreen to throw him, he finished packing his backpack in record time. Cress, with all of the clothes and accessories they'd bought for her since arriving in Paris, was having a much more difficult time deciding what to take with her. Thorne held out three empty bags to her. "Decision time."

Cress furrowed her brow in concentration, until Thorne just started picking random things off of the bed. "I—wait!"

He continued putting clothes in the bags to be thrown out. "Trust me, I understand it's hard to part with things that make you look good. I've been there. You've looked fantastic in everything you've worn this week, so don't worry about choosing. Worry about getting us out on time before that portscreen turns into a wailing siren."

He winked at her, hoping she'd crack a smile, but she just stared at him. "You really think I looked fantastic?"

He shrugged non-committedly. "I'd be lying if I said you didn't have a good sense of style. Now move!"

"What if we just drop these things off in the Rampion before we leave so I can get them at a later date? Surely—"

"Absolutely not. I've agreed to help you, but if someone is tailing you then I'm not going to risk him seeing where my baby is hidden. She stays here, untouched, until we know we've lost him."

"But if we could just leave _with_ the Rampion—"

"I said no. End of discussion."

He ignored the slight tremble of her lower lip and continued shoveling clothes into the trash bags. They were just _clothes_. They were not valuable like a spaceship nor his freedom. She didn't understand that entering the garage at this time of night was also not a good idea—it would look suspicious. He had to make sure that no one connected Cress to him and then also to the Rampion, or he would be easily caught. He may have been feeling slightly more altruistic the past few days, but he was not _that_ altruistic. Besides, he had to assure that the guy tailing Cress wasn't really looking for him instead of her.

* * *

The train was more crowded than he'd counted on, particularly from the vacant train station he'd made them walk to in almost the dead of night. Cress was tired from already having exerted a lot of energy running back to the hotel that day, and by the time they got onto the train she was achy and very vocal about it. He would have felt bad, but it was more important for him to be able to observe who was around them. If they were in a busy station, he could not single people out.

He scoured the corridors until he found an empty overnight compartment. He made Cress swipe her wrist when the android came by so they could get room service and not have any need to leave the compartment during their journey. She, unaware of his desire to be go undetected on this train—even with his fake identity—was all too happy to use her new ID chip. Since it'd been installed, her wrist was healing nicely.

The same could not be said for the bruise turning bright purple on her cheek.

When they had locked the door behind the android and the train began to accelerate, Thorne threw himself onto the lower bunk. The pillow was a tad on the scratchy side, but he would make do. He stretched out, his feet almost dangling off. " _Finally_. My own bed."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Finally."

He peered up at her, still standing with her backpack on her shoulders, wringing her hands. "What's wrong?"

"It's just, uh…" Her eyes darted all over the space, avoiding his. "Where do I sleep?"

"It's a bunk bed, Cress. You climb up the ladder and there's another bed up there. Just like on the Rampion." He envisioned the layout of the Rampion. Maybe because she was short, she had thought the top bunk was just a roof to the bed. "I had the mattresses removed from the top bunks because I didn't need them. It was an easy way to make a few extra univs."

"Oh," she mumbled.

"Here, allow me." He stood up, albeit reluctantly, took the backpack from her, then lobbed it over the railing of the top bunk. Extending his hand, he helped her climb up.

When she was settled in, she beamed at him. "I like the view from up here."

"We used to sleep in bunk beds on school-sponsored trips when I was in Los Angeles. We would always fight for who got the top bunk."

"I bet you got it a lot."

"Of course. But it wasn't because I was any good at fighting. I just knew how to manipulate people into giving me what I wanted." It came out sounding a lot uglier than he'd planned. He scratched his neck slowly. "But I guess you already knew that about me."

She squinting, considering him. "I think I'm starting to realize that there's a lot more to you than meets the eye."

Thorne cleared his throat, trying to recover from the way she was staring at him now, like he was a puzzle that she could solve. "So. Here we are. On the run again."

"I'm sorry," she said, but then determination came over her. "Thank you for deciding to help me."

The room they were in began to feel very small. He took the four steps to the window and attempted to see hints of landscape in the black night outside. He liked how dark it was because it gave him the impression that he was in space. The light inside their compartment hindered him from seeing any stars, though.

"I don't really stay in one place for too long anyway," he said. "But you knew that too, I'm sure, with your stalking abilities." He threw her a wayward glance over his shoulder.

"I consider it doing research," she said, shrugging. "Don't you research everything surrounding the next heist you're planning?"

His eyes spotted some light in the distance. A countryside village, perhaps. The more distance they put between Paris and themselves, the better. "Not necessarily," he said. "A lot of times I just decide I want something, so I take it."

"That sounds rather greedy."

He chuckled. "Why don't you tell me what you really think?"

"I used to think you were greedy, arrogant, selfish, cruel—"

"Stars, Cress," he cut her off. "It wasn't a literal question."

"But I know you better now," she continued, ignoring him. "And I think there's a good—even considerate—guy hiding beneath your somewhat rough exterior. I think I've met him a few times this week."

His instinct was to put on a cocky smile and make a joke about all the other things he was hiding beneath his _rough exterior_. He had an arsenal of lines at the ready detailing how great Captain Carswell Thorne was and how lucky she was to be in his company. But for some reason, it didn't feel right in the moment. Maybe he was just too tired.

He plodded back to the bunk instead and grasped two of the bars that held up the railing. Cress was lying on her stomach, chin propped up on her hands, always observing him. He gave her a gentle grin. "Don't forget that I'm the first guy you've met. Since you were eight, right?"

Her face lit up. "You remembered."

"Hard to forget a story like yours," he said. He leaned in closer to make sure she wouldn't miss a word he said, as if she hadn't been able to hear him before. "You would do well to remember what I've been telling you all along: I'm not one of the good guys, Cress. And you"—he poked her cute little nose—"will learn more and more that thieves like me are not to be trusted. Especially once you start meeting the good guys." He retreated from the railing. "Now, let's get some much needed sleep."

"Okay." She moved and settled into her blankets until she was facing away from him, her head on the pillow.

Thorne switched off the light and fell into his bed once more, a heavy weight pressing on him. He didn't know why he kept insisting that he was bad. After all, hadn't he felt better when Cress had stared looking at him more like a person and less like a criminal that day in the hotel room?

That moment in the hotel room brought back another vivid memory as well—of a strong desire to kiss her. And the way he'd held back, for once.

And then again in the bathroom. Another time he hadn't acted on his impulses.

He shifted, facing the slats of the bunk above him, where Cress was probably already falling asleep. He'd noted that about her, since the second night they'd shared a bed: she dozed off quickly. She often dreamed vividly too, sometimes even talking in her sleep. He was never quite able to understand what she babbled on about, but it was kind of endearing.

She was coping rather well after being locked away for so long. The masked girl with the strange sheet wrapped around her body was all but a phantom to him now. Cress loved vivid colors, trees, music, and taking in all the people around her. Sure, she was one of the most naïve people he'd ever met, but could he blame her?

Maybe he wasn't good at making the right decision in moral dilemmas, but at least he'd made _one_ right one. If she hadn't met a guy since she was eight, then she'd never been kissed either. Her first kiss shouldn't be a stolen moment after a sultry look here and an easy flirt there—something he was quite skilled at—but rather, after some grand, romantic gesture.

She was definitely _that_ type of girl, the type who probably dreamed of epic romances that only came true in the dramas she was so fond of. This girl needed someone to take care of her, show her the world, teach her about love—real love. Someone with patience for that kind of thing.

He flipped onto his side and stared at the empty compartment instead. They would arrive in Genoa by early afternoon tomorrow, and it would be the start of a new adventure. For once, he was starting that adventure with company. The idea of it was unsettling, but in a strange sort of way. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. Unlike Cress, though, sleep did not come easily.

* * *

A persistent knocking on the compartment door startled him out of his sleep.

"Thorne?" came Cress' voice from somewhere above him. "Someone's at the door."

"Room service," said a robotic voice, followed by more knocking.

He sat up groggily and flattened his hair before unlocking and sliding the door open suspiciously—only a crack.

It was a waiter-droid, holding a tray with food and two steaming mugs. "Your pre-ordered breakfast, Sir," it said.

"Ah yes, thank you."

He slid the door open hastily, peaked into the corridor, saw no one, retrieved the tray, and shut the door again just as quickly with his foot. He set the tray down on the miniscule ledge that protruded from the wall and held up a netscreen. His mouth watered at the smell.

"I don't think I can ever eat enough croissants," he said, stuffing one in his mouth and almost burning his tongue from his eagerness.

Cress slowly made her way down the ladder. They both took a seat and began to wolf down the delicacies, Thorne mostly focusing on the crossaints and hazelnut spread, and Cress devouring anything with chocolate. She claimed she loved the _pain-au-chocolat_ the most, because she'd never gotten to eat anything _that_ delicious on the satellite. Thorne just grinned into his coffee mug.

When they were both stuffed, they decided to pass the time by watching a show on the netscreen. To their dismay, however, all regular shows were interrupted with a stream of newsfeeds claiming _BREAKING NEWS_ in bright, flashing, green lettering that scrolled across the screen.

"Shhh," said Cress, "it could be something important." She turned up the volume and sat, fixated, on a frazzed-looking man with a desperate need for a toupee that didn't look quite so fake.

_"…_ _not sure where the Lunar ships have come from. They simply appeared three weeks ago, according to a report just released from representatives of the leaders of the Earthen Union."_

Cress gasped.

" _But Pierre,"_ interrupted the co-anchor, _"how can this be possible? Why would our radar not have detected them sooner?"_

The man, Pierre, shook his head. _"Perhaps they did. Perhaps the leaders of the Earthen Union chose to keep it a secret so as to not start widespread panic. The P.R. report they provided indicated otherwise—that little by little, these ships just started popping up all along the borders of Earthen Union territory."_

A holograph of a map with Earth and its boundaries projected onto the screen, showing little dots that were supposedly clusters of Lunar ships. A chill ran down Thorne's spine.

_"_ _Is it a declaration of war?"_

_"_ _This is unclear. Currently, they have not entered our boundaries. It appears, however, that they are preparing for something. The Earthen Union has requested a video conference with Queen Levana of Luna herself, but thus far the request has been denied."_

Cress looked like she was hyperventilating, so Thorne switched the netscreen off. He scooted his chair around until he was facing her. Her face was ashen, as if she had seen a ghost. He noticed her hands were shaking. It occurred to him that this story would be much more personal for her—too personal.

"Cress—you don't think they're looking for you, do you?" She closed her eyes, but Thorne put a hand on her cheek—the one without the bruise—so she would look at him. "Listen to me, they're not here for you. Queen Levana wouldn't send an army of Lunars down here and threaten peace with the Earthen Union just to find one escaped girl."

"I d-don't t-think they're looking for me," she whimpered.

"Then don't get so worked up about this. The Earthen Union knows about them now. With that in the news, I bet whoever was tailing you in Paris will skedaddle just at the thought of everyone on this planet on the lookout for Lunars, ok?" He gave her a crooked grin. "If the person following you even _was_ Lunar."

"Y-you're right," she said.

"Will it help if you pretend that you're an actress again?"

She sniffed, but cracked a hint of a smile. "No, you're right. It's fine. It's good that the Earthen Union knows."

"That's the Cress I know," he said, standing up and heading to his bed again. "Why don't we just lay down and relax a bit longer, no screens? The day will be busy enough once we arrive, so we might as well be as rested as we can be."

Cress stared at the blank screen for a while longer, and then gave a brief nod. "No screens, good idea. I'm excited to go to Genoa and see the beaches," she added.

"Exactly," said Thorne. "Your first time in the sand. You'll love it."

"Yes," she said firmly, then climbed back up the ladder to her own bed.

When she'd been up there for at least ten minutes, Thorne slid under his own blanket and pulled out his port. He read a bit more about the Lunar ships, wondering what they were looking for. He'd heard the conspiracy theories about the missing Princess Selene, and thought it might have something to do with that. Surely Queen Levana wouldn't be brazen enough to attack Earth without a very strong motive.

He switched news pages and searched for more clues, but found only the same repeating information circling the net. Now that the news had been leaked, the leaders of the Earthen Union were being asked to make statements. At 17:00, different press conferences would begin. The only leader that would not be making a statement on this historic news was Emperor Rikan of the Eastern Commonwealth.

It turned out that they had enough problems of their own without dealing with the appearance of the Lunar ships. According to sources, New Beijing Palace had had an outbreak of letumosis at the start of last week, so the royal family had been moved to an undisclosed location until the medroids and quarantine patrols had secured the immediate area in and around the palace. The Eastern Commonwealth was also advertising for new guards to take over the posts that had recently been vacated due to the plague.

Maybe it had been lucky that Cress had decided to blackmail him after all. An area infected with letumosis was the last place he wanted to be.


	15. Chapter 15

Genoa astounded Cress even more than Paris. In some ways, the alleys and corridors resembled the streets she had seen in the quarters of Montmartre, but meandering through the historic center of Genoa was like stepping back into time. Each street held a new treasure for her to discover, whether it was a crumbling street sign with ancient Italian words that she recognized from her interest in Second Era operas, or the busy chatter of street vendors making sandwiches right in front of her, or the flowers hanging off balconies. She even admired the way that the fading graffiti contrasted against the columns and structures of the palaces.

Thorne had teased her initially, just as he'd done in Paris, sometimes even chuckling at how interested she was in everything. She had trouble reigning in her enthusiasm, though by now she was caring less every day whether she said the right thing or gave the right impression. One time she had even seen a dome in the distance peaking over the confines of the houses in front of her, and she had grabbed his hand and he had sprinted with her. When they stopped—only when she noted that it was still rather hard to run on cobblestone streets—he'd told her flatly that her eagerness was cute, but there was _no way_ he was running again.

"I don't run unless I'm in danger," he'd said. "It ruins my swagger."

Four hours later, after checking into their hotel and buying some supplies, Cress' zeal for Genoa was on the verge of exploding.

They were almost at the beach.

A sundress draped over the new bathing suit she'd purchased—a blue and white polka dot bikini, at Thorne's encouragement—she and Thorne were only meters away from seeing the Mediterranean Sea. Cress took the old cement steps two at a time, bounding up until she reached the edge of the lookout point. When she reached the top, the sight made the breath in her lungs hitch.

Blue. Sparkling, crystal, shimmering blue everywhere around her. The sea stretched out in front of her, waving to her as it crashed against the shoreline. And then, in the distance, it continued on forever until it became one with the sky. She'd seen the pictures a thousand times. Stared down from her satellite at the Blue Planet. But here, from this spot, she could almost touch it. She pulled herself up onto the ledge. If she just stretched her hand out far enough, she would almost be hovering over the water.

A hand snaked around her waist and pulled her back from the ledge. "Whoa there," said Thorne. "We'll have a chance to get into the water, but falling into it from twenty meters up is not the way to go."

"But it's so beautiful."

"I thought you might like it," said Thorne, smirking.

"Can we really go swimming?" she breathed, basking in the glory of it all.

She was going to feel the sensation of saltwater against her skin.

Not that she'd never felt regular water before. But the timed showers on the satellite had been dramatically different from the luxurious baths she'd taken in Paris, and there was no way floating in saltwater would be comparable to anything she'd ever experienced before.

A tear of joy pricked her eyes. Shrugging off Thorne's hand, she stepped up one more time and threw her head back and her arms up and away from her. Her hair whipped around her in the wind, and the sensation of freedom was overwhelming.

"Okay, Cress, that's enough," said Thorne, his tone growing impatient. "You're going to give me a heart attack if you keep standing up there."

She clapped her hands together and squealed. "Okay, let's go!"

Thorne lifted her off the ledge immediately but when her feet touched the ground she sprinted past him, back down to sea level. He caught up with her quickly and forced her to slow to a walk.

"You really want to go swimming."

"I've dreamed about this day for so long. And I want to feel the sand between my toes, and build a sandcastle—oh Thorne, would build a sandcastle with me?"

He cringed. "I plan on working on my tan. It's faded since I left New Beijing."

"No matter. I'll build it on my own!"

She bounced ahead to the entrance of the beach club they had decided on back at the hotel and eagerly swiped her wrist to gain entrance. Going to the beach was not free, as she had imagined, but Thorne had assured her that there were perks that came with paying, like getting a reclining beach chair and discounts on drinks and food. He had wrinkled his nose when Cress had suggested that they just lay out on the sand without any amenities and soak it all in. But Thorne was the one with the experience in these sorts of matters, so she'd believed him.

And now that she was inside, she could see a bar serving drinks, waiters carrying plates of food to customers, music blaring through speakers, palm trees shaped into umbrellas to give shade, and beyond the club—the beach. Up close, it was even more enormous than how it'd looked from the lookout point.

She couldn't help it. She ran again, straight through the crowds of people and over the little rock pathway that gave way to sand and then she was flinging off her shoes and ripping off her sundress and running through the sand towards the water.

In the beginning, she almost lost her balance. The sand was dry and warm but it gave way beneath her feet, causing her to nearly slip backward as she sank her toes into the sand for purchase. The little grains crunched against her, every once in a while giving the feeling as though there were pebbles mixed together. The closer she got to the water, the more she noticed how hot the sand really was. Her feet felt raw and the second she reached the edge of the water she stopped, relishing in the damp coolness of the wet sand.

She jumped when a wave crashed onto shore and into her legs, the unfamiliar sensation covering her with shock and delight. She let two more waves roll up to her and recede again before she just couldn't wait any longer. Cress ran into water and when it was more than waist deep, she flung herself forward into an oncoming wave.

For a moment, the bliss of being _underwater_ on _Earth_ was all she could think of. That bliss only lasted until the wave flipped her upside down and nearly sucked the air out of her lungs.

It was in that moment that Cress remembered that she had no idea how to swim. Panic set in, striking all of her elation down as she threw her arms out and flailed about, trying to push away from the sandy bottom of the sea. She was not going to die. She was a famous swimmer—no, a diver, and this was just a test of her skill. Cress tucked herself into a ball and tried to roll in the water to turn herself back upright but she just continued forward. It was hard to see with the sand mixing with the water and the salt stung her eyes when she tried to open them.

She was not a diver at all, rather a jellyfish, at the mercy of the sea.

She banged into something, and that something pulled her towards the surface by her shoulders. Spluttering, she saw that it was _Thorne_ standing in front of her, still gripping her shoulders.

"I can't swim!" she said desperately, hoping he wouldn't let go.

Thorne raised an eyebrow. "Then just put your feet on the ground."

Feeling ridiculous, she untucked herself slowly and breathed a sigh of relief when a toe gingerly felt the sandy bottom. Thorne let go of her shoulders and crossed his arms around his chest. Which was bare and basically eye level and right above the chiseled abs she had already noticed in Paris. Only she'd never been so close to them and she had the strongest desire to reach out and touch them.

Instead, she ran her fingers through the tangles in her hair in an attempt to calm her racing heart. She wasn't sure anymore if it was from the adrenaline of nearly drowning or from the way Thorne's body made butterflies fly around her stomach. "The wave just swallowed me."

"That's what happens when you have no swimming experience and run like a mad woman into the water while weighing less than nothing."

"Thanks for saving me."

"Are you planning on drowning again or would you like to learn how to swim now?"

"Actually, I think I need to take a quick break. But then I would love to learn how to swim."

She hurried up the shoreline and back into the hot sand. It wasn't as scalding with her feet wet, but she still moved quickly to retrieve the shoes and dress she'd thrown carelessly in the sand. By her things, she noticed a towel spread out over one of two beach chairs next to the bag Thorne had been carrying with their things. She rummaged inside and found her own towel.

Cress propped herself on her elbows and watched Thorne swim. He was graceful in the water, like the swimmer she had imagined herself to be. His files had told her all about his upbringing in Los Angeles, but she'd never considered that he would have grown up spending time on the beach too. The only time he'd talked about his past had been to tell her about the bunkbeds at camp. When she'd initially contacted him, her main concern had been his greed and obvious survival instinct—the characteristics she had needed to blackmail him. But now she wondered what had happened to him, that he had chosen to escape the military and live his life as a fugitive. Why would anyone want to leave his family behind, if he had one?

She itched to go in the water too and try again, but the sun was too magnificent against her skin. The Vitamin-D filled capsules that Sybil had given her once a month to keep from losing her bone mass while in the satellite—possibly the only considerate thing Sybil had done for her—wasn't necessary here on Earth. The sun sizzled away the remaining drops of water, and when she was completely dry save her suit, she laid back and closed her eyes, relishing in the heat.

After five minutes, she heard Thorne lay down next to her, but she was too content to even acknowledge him. Instead, she just hummed happily to herself.

"Hello, Crescent."

Cress' heart leapt out of her chest. Thorne did not know her name was Crescent. Thorne did not have a deep, grating voice. She bolted upright. On the towel next to her was the boy from the train.

_He had found her._

"Don't be scared. I'm not here to hurt you." He was prone on the beach chair, his head resting lazily on his criss-crossed arms like he didn't have a care in the world. Cress searched the sea for Thorne. He was still swimming and not looking in her direction. She could make a run for it, but her body was paralyzed at the sight of him. How had he found her?

"You don't remember me." He rolled over to one side. "You were fairly young the last time we saw each other. Or maybe you just don't recognize me."

"I—don't—"

"I didn't recognize you either, initially, when I saw you on the train." He glanced at the sea. "But then I heard that Earthen call you Cress, and it was like something clicked. You really shouldn't talk so loud in public when you're trying to be inconspicuous." Cress scrambled up from her beach chair, but so did he. "There's no point in running. I managed to track you all the way here, and I'll keep tracking you." He held up his hands in surrender. "And I just want to help you. Please, hear me out."

"Why should I listen to anything you have to say? Why should I trust you?"

"Because we knew each other when we were young. We weren't the best of friends because of our age difference, but we lived in the same lava tube dormitories." Cress' heart plummeted down to her feet. If he was— _the lava tubes_ —then he was—was it even possible? "I know my hair color is different and I've got all this scruff on my face. I'm almost 21 now, so I've filled out a bit too." He puffed up proudly, but without a bathing suit Cress thought he just looked ridiculous standing there on the beach. "I use a different name now, but Cress, I'm _Miguel_."

"M-Miguel?" Cress thought she might collapse into the sand as memories flooded her. Miguel had been one of the oldest boys kept underground with the rest of the Shells. He had been one of the leaders, the popular boys, and at twelve years old, many of the younger girls had fancied him. No wonder she had recognized him in Paris. Despite his change in appearance, his brown eyes were still the same.

"I remember when Mistress Sybil took you away, Cress. We all thought you were killed."

"B-but h-how—?"

She couldn't think, she only collapsed against him when he pulled her in for a bone-crushing hug. "I escaped," he whispered into her ear.

"They put me in a satellite," she said, trying not to cry. He held on to her tighter. "I only just escaped."

"Oh my stars, Cress. You poor thing," he said, rocking her back and forth. "Shhh. It's going to be okay. We just have to get you away from Carswell Thorne."

Cress pulled back. "W-what? No! Thorne—I mean, his name isn't Thorne."

Miguel rubbed her shoulders. "Cress, I've spent the last five years of my life on Earth trying to make sure no one finds out I'm still alive. I follow every newsfeed extensively for even a hint of news about Luna. Believe me, I recognized him from the Wanted Ads immediately on the train. He's not very good at disguising himself."

She started shaking. "Please—you can't tell anyone!"

"Crescent, my concern is for you and you alone. We have to get you somewhere safe, where you're not in the presence of a fugitive who could jeopardize your safety."

Cress backed away from him completely. "But he _helped_ me! He's a good person!"

"He's an Earthen, Cress. You think he could ever even _begin_ to understand you? What you've been through?"

"Thorne is—"

" _Queen Levana_ is going to come here eventually. She's going to try to take over Earth. Isn't it obvious?"

"I know," said Cress, her shoulders slumping. "She's planning to infect Emperor Rikan with letumosis. But you can trust Thorne. He seems abrasive at first but he's actually a caring person."

"He knows then?" asked Miguel tersely. "He knows everything?"

"Well, not _everything_. Not that I'm Lunar."

Miguel folded his arms. "I see. And if he's so trustworthy, then why haven't you said anything?"

"I was waiting for the right time," she said. She glanced back at the water and saw Thorne trudging his way up the shoreline.

"We have to leave now," said Miguel, "before he sees us. I'll make sure we don't leave a trace."

Cress shook her head. "I can't just leave him."

"The second you tell him you're a Lunar he will drop you like a piece of garbage. He'll probably even report you to the authorities."

"He would _never_!"

"Tell him then," said Miguel, nodding his head in Thorne's direction. "Just don't expect anything good to come of it. I've learned the hard way."

She faced Thorne, who was now jogging towards them, the concern clear on his features. Thorne had said he hated Lunars the first night on the Rampion, but that he hadn't ever met any. Now that he had spent so much time with Cress, surely his opinion would change. He would see that not all Lunars were the same, wouldn't he? Especially when they had put her in a satellite and she had suffered at their hands. Thorne was her friend now. He would understand.

"Everything okay, Olivia?" asked Thorne, using the name from her ID-chip identity.

Cress bit her lip and nodded. "Yes. This is, um—"

"Adrian," said Miguel smoothly, extending his hand. "Her old friend."

"Friend?" asked Thorne, not bothering to hide his suspicion. Cress had told him that she'd been kidnapped by Lunars as a baby and then been locked in a satellite. She'd never mentioned the other children. It would have given away her identity. Thorne stepped protectively in between her and Miguel. "I don't think so. Why don't you just run along back to wherever you came from?"

"You're one to talk," sneered Miguel. "I saw in Paris that you two were sharing a room. She's a naïve fifteen-year-old girl! She's been trapped in a satellite half of her life. What's _wrong_ with you?"

Thorne's eyes darted back and forth from Miguel's face to Cress' before finally landing on her. He looked like he was grappling for something to say.

"Thorne, we need to talk," said Cress.

"You're only _fifteen_? I knew you were a little younger than me but I didn't realize you were _that_ young."

"I'll be sixteen in July," she said, her lip quivering. "Mi- _Adrian_ , can you excuse us?"

Miguel sighed and considered. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. I'll be right over there if you need me." He pointed at the path that led back up to the bar. Then he regarded Thorne. "Don't get any ideas, _Carswell_."

Thorne, eyes wide, took Cress' hands in his. "Who is that guy?" he hissed. "Is he threatening you? Did he force you to tell him my identity?"

"No," she said, swallowing hard. "He knew. He's the boy from the train. He followed us here. But he's not a bad guy."

"Not a bad guy? Cress, he pretended to be your _friend_."

Cress dropped her hands from Thorne's and rubbed her palms together. They were sweaty, and not just from standing in the sun. "He…sort of is," she tried. "From a long time ago. Thorne, I wasn't completely honest about everything in my past. I want to tell you everything now, though. I didn't before because I was scared. We didn't start off on the best note."

"What weren't you honest about, Cress?" said Thorne, his voice strained.

"Remember when I told you that Lunars kidnapped me as a baby? That wasn't entirely true…"

"Who kidnapped you, then? Who put you in that satellite? Is he working for them?" Thorne gestured at Miguel, who was watching them intently from not very far away.

"No, it was Lunars. When I told you that first day when we met on the satellite that I was born different and meant to be killed, I wasn't lying. I just didn't tell you that they didn't take me from Earth. They took me from…Luna."

Thorne paled and took a step back, his hand going through his hair anxiously. "Are you saying… _you're Lunar?_ "

"Yes. But I'm different kind of Lunar—a Shell. They took me and people like Adrian away from our families and locked us in lava tubes. It was only when I was eight that they put me in the satellite. I'm really good at hacking, as you know. I did all the intelligence work for Luna. I'm…I'm the reason the Lunar ships were able to sneak over the border. They only showed up because I escaped the satellite with you and there's no one to scramble their signals anymore."

"Stop talking," said Thorne, holding up his hands. "You're telling me that you're not some innocent baby that got kidnapped from Earth as a child and locked away in a satellite? You're telling me that you're a Lunar spy?"

"No! I mean, I was, but I didn't want to be. That's why I had to escape."

Thorne laughed a sharp, bitter laugh that she had never heard come out of him before. "Oh sure, you _had_ to escape. A Lunar who can deceive an entire planet from realizing that Lunar ships are crossing into their borders needs _rescuing_. That's the worst story I've ever heard, Cress. Or is that even your real name?"

"It's true! I've been trying to escape for a year now. I only ever had access to one D-Comm chip. The one I used to contact you."

"Right, so you could come here and dupe some schmuck into helping you establish yourself on enemy territory. Spades, I'm such an idiot! And to think I fell for your little act."

Cress began to cry. Thorne didn't understand. He thought she was just using him. "C-Captain—"

"And there you go with the crying again. You know, your crying almost became a weakness for me, because I couldn't stand to see your blue eyes filled with pain. It's no surprise now why I was so confused. Who knows if that's even your _real_ eye color. "

"It is!"

"You've been manipulating me this entire time, haven't you? You let it go so far that I was actually starting to believe I cared about you."

"I care about you too!"

"Lies. All lies."

"No! I'm a _Shell_. I can't glamour anyone."

"I'm sure that's a line all Lunars use on their Earthen victims. And I refuse to be one anymore." Thorne reached in the beach bag and pulled out his gun. He held it close to his body so as not to draw attention to it. "Take your friend and get out of my sight."

"No, you don't understand! Luna has Shell Infanticide laws! If I weren't a Shell I would have never been in that satellite! You _have_ to believe me."

"I don't have to believe anything. You betrayed me, Cress. I stupidly thought you were better than that."

"I didn't mean to hurt you." She really hadn't. He had to know that. "I didn't think you'd understand."

" _I don't understand_ is the understatement of the year. I let myself trust you. Do you have any idea just how much you've ruined my life in the last month?"

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "Please, don't do this."

"Save your tears for someone who cares."

"But—"

"I said, get out of my sight. I don't think anyone here will think I'm unjustified for shooting a Lunar." Cress tried to touch his arm, but he flinched away and released the safety on his gun. "I hope I never see you again."

On the verge of hysterics, she ran as fast as she could to Miguel, who was waiting with an outstretched hand. The second she connected with it, he jerked her forward and they sprinted up the path, through the bar, and out onto the streets of Genoa. Miguel had been right. They had to get as far away from him as they could. Only Miguel could possibly understand what she'd been through, and only he could help her start again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miguel is an OC. The other boy you may be thinking of is Julian, who was taken away and probably killed before Cress left for the satellite.


	16. Chapter 16

His fingers still trembling against the gun, Thorne watched Cress run away hand-in-hand with Adrian. They vanished out of sight once they made it to the bar. A couple in his line of sight glanced cautiously at his gun, though he had tried to keep it low and hidden against his leg. Seeing their expressions, he grabbed Cress' bag and yanked out his shirt. It went on with difficulty, clinging to his back, still slick from seawater. Once on, he shoved the gun into the back of his swim trunks, knowing that the shirt would conceal the handle at least a little. He did not dare take it off his person.

Unable to come to terms with the information he had just learned, he sat in the sand, unmoving, and stared out at the sea. Against the afternoon sun, it glittered blue like Cress's eyes.

Blue like all the lies those eyes represented.

He could reconcile the fact that she had used him to get to Earth undetected. As uneasy as it made him, it still made sense: no fugitive would bother trying to enter the atmosphere and go through customs. In tracking him in New Beijing, she would have known that this was the course he too would take.

But her acting scared of the moon? Being shy one second and then argumentative and bossy the next? Giving him money from a fake bank account and a new identity? Faking her ability to leave the satellite?

And why had she bothered to cut her hair if she could just glamour it away?

It must have been part of her ploy to earn his trust. She must have needed something else from him or she would have left him—or worse, killed him—as soon as they had landed on Earth. As much as he didn't want to admit it, her tricks had worked. He couldn't remember the last time he had implicitly trusted someone. But the night Cress had returned to their hotel room after leaving him alone at the train station had changed something in him. He had given his trust away without another backward glance.

_Blue like lies…_

His mind tripped to the most disturbing part of their argument and the pit in his stomach grew.

What if none of his thoughts had even been his own? What if she really _had_ manipulated him—in the Lunar way? What if he'd only seen the visions she had implanted in his mind? What if she didn't even look like Cress?

He attributed his shock at finding out that he had been attracted to a fifteen year old girl to this very fact. Sure, he had known she was younger than him, but he had assumed her naivety was due to her being held prisoner for most of her life. Now that he knew the truth about her, he knew his attraction had probably been contrived. Just a figment of his imagination.

Thorne enjoyed being right, enjoyed getting in the last word. His instincts often helped him out with that. Where had they been this time? He had never been more deeply wrong about something.

But with Lunar witchery, what could a man do against that sort of power?

He fisted his hands into the sand, letting the grains rub against his palms.

_Squeeze, release._

_Squeeze, release._

She had seemed sorry enough when he'd pulled out the gun.

_"I care about you too!"_

But if he couldn't be certain of anything that had happened since he'd met her, why should he believe anything she said amidst tears?

_Squeeze, release._

_Squeeze, release._

He had been stupid to think he could form a real bond with anyone.

He launched a fistful of sand, the grains scattering into the air like rain.

No, he would not be made a fool again.

* * *

Cress ran alongside Miguel, one hand holding onto her bathing suit to keep it from coming undone, the other gripping Miguel's hand to keep up with his pace. He steered her through the winding alleys and turned whenever he could, telling her they would be safe soon. But the cobblestone streets cut into her bare feet until she could not run anymore. He stopped when she cried out from pain, took one look at her feet, and hailed a hover taxi.

The moment they sat down in the back, Cress began to sob.

Thorne had admitted that he'd cared for her just as she had come to care for him, but now he hated her. Her horrible genes, the ones that had made her a pathetic Shell, had ruined everything once again. He didn't want her. No, he wanted to shoot her.

She blubbered into Miguel's shoulder, and he soothed her with a steady hand around her back and many caresses through her hair. She was seven again, back in the lava tubes, with only Miguel and the other Shells around her for company. She told younger self that someday it would be okay, that someday she would escape. But the thought made her sob harder, for Cress had learned that Earth was just as unwilling to accept her as the Lunars had been.

"I know," said Miguel. "I know. I'm going to take care of you from now on, Cress. I'm going to protect you."

"H-he n-never wants t-to see me a-again."

"I've been there."

She looked up from his shoulder and searched his face. "Y-you have?"

He let out a sigh. "His name was Michael." He laughed. "Like my name, you know? Michael and Miguel. I thought it was a sign."

Cress nodded. She too, had once believed in signs. But that naïve Cress, the one who still dreamed of someone saving her in the satellite, had long gone.

Miguel pulled out his portscreen and scrolled through it. "Here. He's not as hot as Carswell Thorne, perhaps, but to me, he was perfect."

Cress took the port and studied the two boys in the picture, perhaps sixteen or seventeen at the time. Miguel laughed up at her, his arm slung around another boy who smiled as if he had told a funny joke. They wore oversized coats and thick, knitted hats. She realized that it must be winter, and how lucky they were to have experienced the changing seasons.

"Where is this?"

"New Zealand Province," he said. "It's where I first went when I escaped Luna." He took back his port and looked at the picture before sighing. "We were madly in love. After two years of being together, I had met his family, traveled the country with him, planned my future. I knew that wherever I went it would include him. When we turned eighteen, he asked me to move in with him. I was ecstatic, of course."

Cress nodded again, her tears slowly drying.

"I hadn't told him about my past yet. I had just told him that I'd been abused and didn't want to talk about it, and he respected that. But I knew that if I planned on staying with him, I'd have to tell him. And if he loved me that much, then he would understand. But I was naïve back then, Cress. I'd only been on Earth for a year before I met him, and I hadn't yet understood something about Earthens. You see, they think they know everything. About themselves, about us, about our culture. Really all they know are scary stories their parents tell them at night." He laughed sadly. "With Queen Levana around, I can't say I'd tell the stories any differently, but you and I both know that the outer sectors aren't like Artemisia."

"What happened when you told him?"

"I'm sure you can guess," he said, turning away to look at the buildings below them. "That's why I go by Adrian now," he added quietly.

Cress' heart overflowed with sadness for her friend. She was lucky in some ways, that Thorne had discovered the truth before she'd had a chance to really fall in love with him. But something about the butterflies she'd felt in stomach whenever she'd been around him told her that maybe it was already too late.

Miguel took out his port again and began looking through it, and Cress knew his story was over. She leaned against the back of her seat and let Miguel do whatever he needed to do to bury that memory once again. Little by little, the thrum of the hover engine lulled her to sleep.

* * *

Miguel secured an apartment rental for them three towns over. Unlike Thorne, he had no reservations about splurging for one that had two bedrooms. Compared to their hotel in Paris and small studio in Genoa, the apartment seemed like a palace.

He told her that they would go back to his place in Paris the following day, after they had bought her some new clothes. There, he said, he could help Cress find work if she so desired, but first she would need to change her identity again. If Thorne knew that she went by Olivia, she wasn't safe from anyone. He could report her to the authorities.

Cress wondered why they would go back to Paris in the first place if Thorne would go there to recollect the Rampion. Miguel said it was unlikely that Thorne would choose the one place where Cress knew how to find him.

"You could track him, of course," he said. "He's probably already cut out his ID chip by now."

She excused herself from Miguel, telling him that she was tired and overwhelmed, but really she wanted to go back to her room and play with the netscreen. The first thing she did was order a portscreen with some of her univs, lest Thorne drain their account before she had a chance to spend any money. Then she transferred the remainder of her portion into a different bank account for safe keeping. Tomorrow, she would make a real one for Olivia, or whatever other identity she would choose.

She didn't touch the money that belonged to Thorne. They had made a deal and she would not go back on it.

She laid in bed that night, afraid to sleep. Every time she dared to close her eyes she saw Thorne standing on the beach with his gun, his eyes sparking in anger. She wondered where was now, and if he was possibly thinking of her too—if he had reconsidered anything she'd said.

The red power light of the netscreen glowed from its spot on the wall. Tempted, she crept over to it until she remembered that she was alone in the room with no one to wake up. "Light on," she muttered, and then, "screen on."

She considered going back to bed. Taking a bath. Waking up Miguel and telling him to stop her. But she didn't do anything remotely responsible.

Instead, she typed in the number of Thorne's port, which by now she had committed to memory. She made the netscreen establish a vidlink connection, and then she waited. Surely if Thorne saw her on the screen without a mask covering her face, then he would know she wasn't capable of glamour.

She waited with such anticipation that her stomach knotted and twisted with each blink of the netscreen:

_Establishing connection…Establishing connection…Establishing connection…_

But the connection was never established. There was no 'reject' message sent back, no hang up on his side. There was just no connection.

She tried again, frowning, knowing that there was no way she had gotten his details wrong.

 _No connection available,_ her screen told her.

Letting out a frustrated groan, she shut the netscreen off and tried again. The same thing happened. Perhaps the netscreen simply didn't work, she decided. It seemed illogical, since it had let her type in commands, but maybe she was too emotionally drained to get anything right now.

"Feeds on," she said, and the channels did indeed pop up as they were supposed to. Her frustration grew at the thought that Thorne had already destroyed his portscreen. Did he really think that she was that terrible of a person?

Apparently so.

She settled on watching a drama, in the end, and took comfort in knowing that at least her beloved shows would always stay the same. At least something in this world was romantic and sappy.

The show was interrupted when a red ticker scrolled across the bottom, making Cress nearly fall off the bed in horror.

FUGITIVE CARSWELL THORNE ARRESTED IN GENOA – EUROPEAN FEDERATION TO EXTRADITE CARSWELL THORNE TO THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC – FUGITIVE CARSWELL THORNE ARRESTED IN GENOA –EUROPEAN FEDERATION TO EXTRADITE CARSWELL THORNE TO THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC


	17. Chapter 17

The holding cell was damp, much like the wine cellar in Argentina where he'd once spent a rather entertaining evening with Carolina Vera. But unlike the earthy scent of the barrels that had mixed with Carolina's sharp perfume, the cell was musty. It reminded him more of the locker rooms in the American Republic military after a blisteringly hot, sweaty day of training.

Thorne wrinkled his nose at the thought.

He was beginning to smell like the cell as well. It was inhumane, really, to not have a personal shower in each cell. When he'd pointed it out, the guards sneered at him. Apparently, holding cells were not meant for people like him, who stayed there for longer than a day. He'd counted two and a half days, and wondered why no one was paying any attention to him. Hadn't the officials said he'd be extradited to the American Republic as soon as possible?

Not that he was in any rush to get back there and go to trial. He, was, however, eager for a shower and some news of why he was still here. Massaging out a crick in his neck and noting his tight muscles, he started to fantasize about immersing himself in a Jacuzzi instead. Now _that_ was something that every jail should have.

Along with soap. A lot of soap.

Footsteps sounded down the hall, and Thorne sprang up, ready with a charming grin for the sake of the guard who was likely there to finally get him. Unfortunately, he had no neighbors in this block of cells.

The smile slipped off his face instantly when he saw who accompanied the guard.

He scowled but recovered quickly, willing his face into a neutral, uncaring expression. He did not sit down. He would not be intimidated.

"Carswell," said his father, not trying to hide his annoyance at all.

"It's Captain now."

His father turned to the guard. "Leave us."

The guard seemed flustered, but the stern look of Colonel Kingsley Thorne was not one to be reckoned with. Thorne pitied him as the guard shrank back and walked away to give them space.

"Aww, you didn't have to come all the way over the pond just to bail me out."

His father's irritation grew, making Thorne inflate with the knowledge that he'd hit the correct nerve. Kingsley's left eyebrow twitched dangerously. "I'm not bailing you out."

"Nice of you to visit anyway," said Thorne. "Nothing like making your only son feel loved."

"This is not a visit either."

"Shame. I could really use some refreshments in here."

"Where is the Rampion that you stole, Carswell?"

Thorne smirked to cover up the sudden rush of relief. At least the Lunar hadn't been vicious enough to give up the Rampion's location yet, even if she had ratted him out to the authorities. "Sorry," he said with a shrug. "I know she's a beauty, but she's mine."

"Carswell—"

"Captain."

His father's eyes smoldered, and Thorne nearly flinched. "You are not a _captain_ ," he spat. "You are not even a real _cadet_."

"I have my own ship."

"You're in jail, Carswell. The charade is over."

He huffed, then instantly regretted it. "This is not a charade. This is who I am."

Kingsley's smoldering eyes turned into slits. "This is not who you are. I did not raise you to be this"—he gestured with disgust at Thorne in his prison uniform—" _criminal_ that you've become."

Thorne dropped his gaze. He clenched his fists behind his back to mask his emotions, knowing that they would only be used against him. If he'd ever had any doubts about how much his father resented him after having deserted, he had none now. But he was used to his father's resentment and biting tone.

"How's Mom?" he said quietly.

The gold pins on his father's suit reflected against the sunlight as his father took a step closer to him, making him squint. He noted that the Colonel had received two more honors since he'd last seen him. It didn't surprise him.

"Your mother is embarrassed to call you her son. The shame that you have brought on our family with your indiscretions has been unbearable for her. She wasn't reelected as chair of her social group after you deserted. I'm sure you can imagine what else she has lost from her reputation since then, with all the crimes you've committed."

Thorne wanted to scoff, but Kingsley continued, leaning down so he was level with his son.

"Your mother is the only reason I'm here. When she heard the news, she asked me to come here and talk some sense into you since I was already on a nearby assignment. Don't embarrass us even further, Carswell. Tell them where the Rampion is before you go to trial."

"By now, it could be in Africa for all I know."

"Then I think some time in jail is just what you need to lose that attitude of yours."

Thorne called up his charming grin again. "Attitude? Me?" When his father only continued to glare at him, he returned to his neutral, complacent face.

"Don't even think I'll vouch for you during your trial." His voice lowered to almost a whisper. "Why couldn't you just be the son we wanted?"

Thorne tugged on sleeve of his uniform, the scratchy material making even his fingers itch. He smiled, then, as if his father were the guard instead. "Well, this has been a real treat. Come back any time."

Kingsley Thorne straightened. "Grow up, Carswell. The Earthen Union has bigger things to worry about than your shenanigans."

Only when his father had walked all the way down the hallway did Thorne realize that he was shaking. He walked the three paces back to his cot and sank onto the so-called mattress. In reality, it was probably a rock with some padding on it.

Unwilling to allow his father to win and leave him angry—because why should he care anyway—he turned his thoughts to the Lunar who had gotten him into this mess. She had stolen his livelihood, maybe even his ship.

The anonymous tip had to have come from her or her new friend. Maybe he was her handler. Her partner. Her lover.

It didn't matter. She was not worth dwelling over any longer, save one precisely directed thought:

_Revenge._

She had called his skills pathetic once, and he would prove her wrong. He knew how to take care of himself.

He was still a criminal mastermind.

Uncurling his fist, he grinned down at the small gold pin he had swiped off his father's jacket and began to devise a plan.


	18. Chapter 18

Getting out of his cell was far too easy. It only required precise maneuvering of the little gold pin placed strategically in the padlock. Thorne laughed to himself while he picked the lock. The new guard for his cell block would show up in exactly three minutes, and he could already hear the right kind of clicking inside of the padlock. Two more twists to the left and…another click.

The one he was waiting for.

Thorne pulled down and the lock opened. Grinning, he quickly attached his father's pin to his prison jumpsuit and ever so quietly slipped open the cell doors. He would only have a minute now before the guard came back, so he had to hurry. It was possible that someone in security had already seen him open the door.

He ran down the corridor and past the empty cells until he reached the corner where the guard always stood. Pressing his back against the wall, he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, he heard footsteps. Bracing himself, he counted five beats.

Thorne jumped out, fists at the ready. The new prison guard jumped back in turn and cried out from shock, but Thorne attacked him before he had the chance to pull out his weapon. They struggled briefly, but he still had the advantage. He threw one hard punch square in the guard's face. Thorne watched him see stars before he crumpled to the ground.

Thorne grabbed the guard by the feet and pulled him into a nearby storage closet. The security cameras would surely have picked up on this by now. More guards would be coming for him. But he had known that.

He peeled off his dirty jumpsuit, more than happy to be rid of it, and began taking the outer layers of the guard's uniform. If he managed to escape the prison, it would be better if he didn't _look_ like an escaped convict the second someone saw him in the streets of Genoa.

The pants were a little too baggy and the top was too snug, but it would have to do. He hesitated only briefly when deciding whether to take the guard's gun. It was a fair trade, since they had taken his, but he didn't want to have an added assault charge on his rap sheet along with escaping prison. But as he surveyed the unconscious guard whose prison-issued ID badge read _Alessandro Bertolini_ he knew that there would be no way to escape an assault charge, even if he managed not to shoot anyone.

Then he left Alessandro in the closet. He took his ID badge with him just in case.

His military training finally came in handy. He walked out of the closet like he owned the place, his back straight and his eyes fixed unmoving in front of him.

Not that there was anyone around.

Thorne continuing marching forward, wanting to run, but his instincts told him to keep the same pace. He would run when the _guards_ came running for him.

His knuckles whitened against the gun in its holster when he heard the security camera swivel above him. He would not look at it, would not give them the satisfaction of capturing his face in those feeds. He had done everything in his power to make sure that his face was turned down while he attacked the guard.

Then it could only be speculation.

At least, he hoped something like that would hold up in court.

Probably not though, considering the empty jail cell.

He tried not to think about it. He was still marching—there was still no one in sight.

Sweat dripped down his back when he rounded another corner and spotted the next guard. He stood tall at his post in the corner, in the same position as Thorne's guard always had. Thorne pressed forward, not altering his pace.

He nearly breathed a sigh of relief when the guard didn't even acknowledge him.

Huh.

He _had_ always been lucky, he reminded himself.

Until he had met that Lunar, at least.

He reached the elevator bank and the doors opened but he strode past, choosing the stairs instead. He didn't know who was inside that elevator and whether they would recognize him, nor did he want to take that chance. Thorne took the stairs two at a time, pausing only when he reached the third floor, irritated by his sudden indecisiveness. He had paid attention to the layout when they'd brought him in—the third floor was where he had entered the prison.

There was a main reception area right at the entrance. He would want to avoid that. But he had seen other corridors. Other doors. Where they lead to, he had no idea. He hadn't exactly had a chance to study the prison's blueprints. Maybe his plan wasn't as well thought out as he'd hoped.

Before he could make a decision, Thorne nearly went blind from a glaring red light that lit up the entire stairwell. Then he had to cover his ears.

A siren wailed above him, right over the door he'd been standing in front of.

He blinked and tried to squint through the red lights, tried to hear over the deafening siren. It stopped screeching to repeat two automated words in succession:

_Security breach. Security breach. Security breach._

Then:

_Lockdown initiated._

The wailing siren began again.

Thorne cursed and continued running up the stairs, barely able to keep from tripping in the chaos of the red light blinding his vision.

This was _not_ a problem.

He would pretend to be Alessandro and act as if he were helping to find the escaped fugitive.

This was not a problem at all….

He burst through the fourth floor door, hand still poised on his gun. Guards were running through the corridor and he joined the three of them, running in unison.

"You two get to the med evac exit!" yelled a guard in front of him. "Rulli and I will circle back to the entrance!"

"Got it!" yelled Thorne in a heavy European accent at the same time as the guard next to him.

He made sure to slow his pace only just enough so that the guard could take the lead. If he hadn't needed this guard to show him where to go, he would have smirked.

The guard took the upcoming corridor to the left into a new stairwell. Clamoring behind him, Thorne followed the guard up two more floors before they both stopped in front of the door. He drew his gun and so did Thorne. Thorne put his finger on his lips to quiet the guard and gestured to the door. Then he kicked it open with his foot and pointed the gun.

"Clear!" he yelled, and the guard flew past him.

They reached an electronic door. The guard turned to Thorne. "Let's position ourselves on the other side in case he tries to escape this way."

Thorne nodded. Then he hit the guard in the back of the neck with his gun. The guard fell first to his knees, then collapsed on the floor.

Now full out smirking, Thorne took Alessandro's badge and swiped it through the electronic lock thing that looked like a fancy portscreen.

The door didn't budge.

Maybe it was voice activated.

"Doors open," he commanded. His voice was drowned out by the noise from the siren. He yelled it as loud as he could, but nothing happened.

Grunting at the weight, he lifted the guard up so he could swipe his wrist over the lock. It blinked green.

"Yes," said Thorne in a low voice. But then the portscreen keypad lit up and began scrolling blocks of text:

-WELCOME, FRANCESCO GALLO. ENTER SECURITY ACCESS CODE FOR LOCKDOWN CLEARANCE.-

"No, no, no, no!" yelled Thorne, dropping the guard unceremoniously on the ground and running his hands through his hair. He was terrible with technology. How could he figure out the password?

He tried random numbers, the Genoa postal code, and a few stupid words.

-ACCESS DENIED-

He was about to make a run for it again, to turn around and risk the main entrance, when the blinking -ACCESS DENIED- text changed. To his utter disbelief and shock it said:

-WELCOME, CAPTAIN CARSWELL THORNE-

_What?_

-ENTER PASSWORD-

He stared dumbly at the screen. He didn't know the stupid password, obviously, and now his mind was hallucinating from the blinking red lights.

-HURRY. 2 G ON L CORRIDOR. 57 S.-

 _2 G on L? 57 S?_ "What the—?"

He typed in 2GL57S for the password. But right after the same glaring -ACCESS DENIED- text popped up again, he got a new message:

-RAMPION PASSWORD, YOU IDIOT-

An uncontrollable, bone-penetrating chill went down his spine at the word _Rampion_ showing up on the portscreen.

Hands trembling, he typed in: CAPTAIN IS KING.

-ACCESS GRANTED-

The door whooshed open.

Gun raised, he waited for someone to jump out at him and grab him, or worse, shoot him. After three seconds, he raced through the door. It slid shut behind him.

As he sprinted down the new hallway, which thankfully didn't have any blinking lights, Thorne saw the security cameras swivel away from him when he approached. He tried to calm his shaking hands by focusing on his target ahead—a door clearly marked EXIT.

He slammed into the door, stupidly having thought that it would open manually. Another portscreen panel, barely visible in the frame of the door, lit up again.

-SAME PASSWORD-

Thorne didn't hesitate to type CAPTAIN IS KING.

The door opened immediately, and Thorne staggered into the sunlight. It was almost as bad as the red lights from the siren, but this time his inability to see anything signified freedom instead of confinement, so he didn't care.

But he had to keep moving. When he had given his eyes a few seconds to adjust, he straightened and willed his legs to move again.

But he halted just as quickly at the sight in front of him: a hover lowering itself to the ground. But it wasn't really the ground. It was a roof of some sort. Seeing the neighboring but inaccessible rooftops all around him made him feel dizzy.

It was a landing pad. _The med evac,_ the guard had said. And now, where the chase would come to an end.

Thorne swallowed hard, a life behind bars flashing in front of him like a horrible net drama.

He considered jumping off the roof. Could he land it without killing himself in the process?

He drew his gun again and pointed it at the hover. This was his only chance to escape his fate. After the stunt he'd pulled today, they would put him in a cell with handcuffs. In solitary confinement.

He would not be able to handle solitary confinement.

The hover made contact with the ground and the door opened. Thorne sucked in a breath and closed one eye, taking aim.

Then Cress stepped out.

Thorne nearly shot her out of shock. But she didn't flinch at the sight of his gun on her. She just raised her hands in an attempt at surrender. "Get in!" she screamed over the hover's engine.

Thorne didn't lower his gun. "And fall for another one of your traps? I don't think so!"

Her eyes widened. "I changed the security code on the door so they can't get out here! But there are other doors! You need to get in _now_!"

The security codes...the password... _Captain is King_...

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Lunar," he growled.

She began to run to him, and though she should have been scared of his weapon, it was he who took a step back.

"They know you're up here. _Please_ , Thorne!"

She was standing right in front of him now, staring at the barrel, as if daring him to shoot her. Her hair whipped around in the wind and he remembered her head thrown back in glee over the lookout point at the beach. She had looked so beautiful in that moment.

"Stop controlling my thoughts," he warned.

She looked like she would cry or yell at him or both. But she just stared up at him with those cursed eyes.

"Don't you think I would make you drop the gun if I could control you?" she said, her shaky voice giving away the emotions she was trying to hide on her face.

He blinked.

"Don't you think you'd already be in the hover?"

He looked from her to the hover, sure his own eyes were wild.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Thorne. I'm sorry I lied to you. I made a bad choice. Don't you make a bad choice now just because you're mad at me."

He gritted his teeth, feeling his fingers grow sweaty against the gun.

"Please."

She held out her hand to him. He glanced at it, then back at her face. Then back down to her hand, outstretched and waiting.

"They're coming, Thorne."

He bit back his anger, his distrust, and his desire for revenge and lowered the gun. She smiled then, the same smile that he had warmed to over the last few weeks.

But he didn't take her hand. He left her standing there as he ran past her to the hover.

Then he climbed inside and saw Adrian staring at him, disapproval and hate radiating off his face. Thorne ignored him and grabbed the seat behind him. Another person sat calmly in the driver's seat.

Cress was inside the hover a moment later. They didn't acknowledge each other.

When the hover was in the air, Thorne collapsed against the headrest of his seat, the adrenaline draining from his veins as exhaustion quickly set in and threatened to claim him.


	19. Chapter 19

"You're welcome," said Adrian sourly.

Thorne, still working on reclaiming his breath, didn't bother opening his eyes or responding. There was nothing he could do right now but wait for the repercussions of choosing to board the hover to unfold in front of him. It had been a better choice than waiting to be shot to death on the rooftop—or worse, to be recaptured. At least with Cress and Adrian he had a chance to escape once they landed.

Unless they had other plans for him.

Torture? Brain-washing him to do their bidding? Imprisonment in his own satellite?

His mind ran away with him as he recovered from the prison escape, which made him furious at his thoughts for being treacherous. He controlled his thoughts alone, and he would not allow himself to panic. It was not his style.

Except he still didn't know if he controlled his thoughts.

Why hadn't Cress forced him on the hover?

Why had she just stood there while he decided whether to shoot her?

An inkling of doubt about her ability to brainwash him had implanted itself in his brain, and it was enough to make his worldview want to crumble in front of him.

Maybe she was just trying to put doubt in his mind on purpose. This was the girl who had cloaked thousands of Lunar ships and turned the entire Earthen Union into a panicked frenzy. She was capable of anything.

He felt a trembling hand on his knee. His eyes jerked open and he saw that Cress was leaning over the seat in front of him. Her eyes were fraught with concern, but he gave her a cool look and swiftly removed her hand from his knee.

"Did they hurt you in prison?" she asked.

Thorne said nothing. He remembered her unwillingness to speak when he had first tried to coax information out of her on the satellite. Two could play this game. He kept his eyes locked on her, persistent but indifferent, hoping to make her uncomfortable the way she made him uncomfortable. He was surprised to note the dark circles under her eyes.

She disappeared behind the seat and reemerged with a brown paper bag. "Do you need water? Food?"

Again, he ignored her.

"They're, um, sort of like croissants, I think." She smiled weakly as she pulled out a type of ganache bread, her hands still shaky.

His mouth watered. Prison food had not exactly been gourmet, to say the least, so he sucked up his pride and snatched the bread out of her hand. It was gone in a matter of seconds.

"Why, you ungrateful little—" Adrian started, but Cress's warning look shut him up.

Thorne wiped the crumbs off his face. "Your boyfriend's a real hoot. Too bad he couldn't have been with us the whole time."

He smirked as Cress turned bright red. "H-he's not my boyfriend."

"Just your handler then? The guy ogles you like one of the dream dolls I stole in Venezuela." To Adrian, he said: "The girl's not going to break. She's probably playing you too, for all we know."

"Cress isn't playing anyone," said Adrian angrily, but Cress held up her hand.

"Thorne—"

"Who's the guy piloting the hover?"

Cress bit her lip. She exchanged a wary glance with Adrian and then swallowed. "He's just a hover taxi driver I hired."

"Oh really?" said Thorne, getting up from his seat. "And are you controlling him?"

"Thorne." Cress stared up at him. "I know I wasn't honest with you about everything, but I really am a Shell."

"Of course you're a _shell_." He held up his hands and made fake quotation marks in the air. "I saw how much you liked the beach, sweetheart."

She flinched at the use of the term, which she had forbidden him to use on the Rampion.

"You moron," said Adrian, putting a protective arm around Cress. "Shells are Lunars that don't have the gift. She was born without it. She _can't_ control you."

"She can't control me, you say?" He held on to the side wall as he made his way past Cress and Adrian and plopped into the seat next to the pilot. Feeling reckless, he pulled out his gun again and pointed it at the pilot. "Let's test that theory."

"Stop it!" Cress cried, rushing forward.

He blocked her easily with his free arm and kept the gun trained on the pilot. Not that he had any real intention of shooting him. But no one needed to know that detail. "What's your name, pilot?"

"Gi-Giovanni," stuttered the pilot. The hover took a slight dip as he looked frantically between Cress and Thorne, and Thorne's gun, and the flight path in front of him.

"Hello Giovanni," said Thorne. "Forgive my rudeness, but you'll understand that I've just escaped from prison and can't help finding the fact that you're helping me highly suspicious. What's in it for you?"

"Nothing!" he cried. His inability to fly properly when he was nervous irritated Thorne even further. Maybe he could knock him out and take over the hover himself. Then he could fly them wherever he wanted.

 _If_ Cress and Adrian couldn't control him.

"Thorne!" said Cress. "He didn't do anything!"

He laughed, somewhat manically. It sounded foreign even to him. "Use your powers, Cress. Make me stop."

"I can't!" she cried and threw herself at Thorne again.

Another easy block.

"P-p-powers?" stuttered Giovanni. Thorne was getting really sick of him, his stuttering, and his inability to fly.

"Stage fright?" asked Thorne, now struggling against Cress, who had managed to wrap herself around half of his body in an attempt to knock the gun away. Adrian, on the other hand, wasn't doing anything.

Some handler.

"I know...you're just…mad at me!" Cress gasped from the exertion.

Thorne waved the gun in the air. The hover dipped to the right again. "Stop flying crookedly!" he yelled at Giovanni. "I want to know what you're doing here and why you would help an escaped convict. What's the big plan?"

"She blackmailed me!" cried Giovanni. "She's crazy just like you!"

Of course she had blackmailed him.

Cress attacked him, like an annoying cat with claws, and he cursed at how much damage her frail little body was capable of doing. He was forced to retract the gun and focus his attention on his struggle with her.

"Your…handler…clearly…cares a lot…about you," Thorne grunted at Cress, who he was trying to ward off without shooting anyone accidentally. Despite his anger, he still did not want blood on his hands. And she really _wasn't_ controlling him.

Huh.

"He's not…my handler!" said Cress.

Then Adrian did step in, whacking the gun out of Thorne's hand and sending it tumbling on the floor. He dove for it before either Thorne or Cress could and then pointed it at Thorne. "Keep flying," he told Giovanni.

He took a step closer to Thorne and Cress, who was frozen on his lap now, no longer trying to attack him. Thorne let his hands drop from her arms.

"I knew it," said Adrian. "I knew you were bad for Cress." He spat on the floor. "I was right to turn you in."

Cress gasped. "It was you?"

"Of course it was me. You think it was a coincidence that the authorities just happened to find him the day I showed up? I alerted them to the location of his apartment even before I came to find you at the beach."

"How could you?" said Cress. The tone of her voice shocked Thorne, as if she really hadn't had any idea. "I trusted you!"

"As you should!" said Adrian, then glanced back at Giovanni. "If you even _appear_ to be descending I will shoot you in the foot."

"Leave him alone!" said Cress. "He's _helping_ us, Miguel."

Miguel?

Adrian-slash-Miguel shook his head. "Enough of these games, Cress. I told you that Carswell Thorne was not to be trusted. I warned you that he wouldn't accept you for you who are. I warned you that _Earthens_ wouldn't accept you for who you are. _They're all the same_." He took a step closer to Thorne and released the safety. "This ends now."

Cress began to sob. "Miguel, _please_ , s-stop it. He's just b-bluffing, T-thorne." He felt her shaking on his lap, and he remembered the satellite again, when he had attacked her that first fateful day. An uncomfortable turn of his gut told him that Cress wasn't faking this.

"I'm not bluffing."

Thorne sucked in a breath, trying to figure out a way to attack Miguel without getting shot in the face. He, unlike Cress, didn't get the feeling that Miguel was bluffing at all. He had a crazed look in his eyes.

It _was_ his fault. Maybe if he hadn't decided to act like a fool and mess around with Giovanni, he wouldn't be facing imminent death now.

"We've just broken a criminal out of jail, Cress. The first thing he's done is try to attack our pilot. He's a danger to us and a menace to society."

"H-he's just scared." Cress was crying hard now, and suddenly she wrapped her arms around his neck. But Thorne didn't dare look away from Miguel, whose eyes were going back and forth between the two of them. "Thorne thinks I betrayed him. Think of how you felt, Miguel, when Michael betrayed you."

Miguel's eyes flashed _._

 _Shut up, Cress_ , Thorne wanted to say.

"And why should he trust us, Miguel? All I've done…all I've done is lie to him about who I am."

"It doesn't matter, Cress! He's Earthen. He can never understand you! We have to finish this! It's gotten too out of hand. I should have never let you help him break out. Do you want to go to jail too?"

"Finish it then," said Thorne, rolling his eyes as if he didn't care at all about his fate.

Miguel pushed the gun to his temple, but then Cress threw her face forward, embracing Thorne completely. Her cheek pressed against his cheek and forced his head sideways and away from the gun. He watched Miguel through the corner of his eyes. His confidence had faltered.

"Get out of the way, Cress."

Cress pressed herself against Thorne tighter. "No."

His heart rate accelerated. Cress was trying to protect him? Trying to keep him from getting shot?

Miguel dragged a hand down his face. His hand was shaking now. "Get out of the way!"

"Miguel," Cress pleaded, and Thorne heard desperation in her voice. "You can't. I…I think I'm in love with him."

_Wait._

Thorne's pulse thrummed in his ears.

_What?_

"Crescent Moon," said Miguel firmly, his tone elevating in warning. "This isn't one of your net dramas! Stop this nonsense at once."

"You're…you're not the boss of me." She hiccupped, like she was trying to control her tears. "I wanted to escape the satellite so they wouldn't be able to control me anymore. I'm not going to let you control me either."

Thorne saw Miguel pale slightly. "Cress, you're overreacting. I'm trying to protect you. To help you see more clearly. He thinks you brainwash him but really it's him brainwashing _you._ He's a criminal and he will hurt you the second he gets the chance."

"No," she said, shaking her head and burying her head into Thorne's neck. Her breath was hot and sticky against his skin. "He's kind and he's brave and he cares about me."

Thorne was trying to find his voice, but for once in his life, he was absolutely speechless. So he just sat there like a statue, trying to process the sudden developments of the situation, which hinged on the feelings of the emotional Lunar sitting on his lap.

"I know he's handsome and probably very charming, Cress, but that's how he fools people. I've read all about him. He's incapable of caring about anyone except himself. This is only going to end with him breaking your heart."

Cress sniffed and lifted her head off of Thorne's neck. She tried to meet his gaze, but he was watching the way Miguel's gun was still pointed at them, though it was lowered now to about where Cress's back was. He glanced at her briefly and she sniffed again when their eyes clashed.

"I think he already did," she whispered.

"Cress," said Thorne nervously, wetting his lips. "This is not the time or place for this conversation."

Cress turned back to Miguel. "Are you going to shoot me?"

Miguel's face fell. "You're like my little sister. Of course I'm not going to shoot you."

"Are you going to shoot Thorne?"

Thorne raised his eyebrow at Miguel. He wanted to know the answer to that as well, and he was really hoping the two of them would wrap things up sooner than later.

Miguel glared at him. "I'd like to."

Giovanni cleared his throat. The three of them turned to look at him, having forgotten he was there. "I'd prefer if no one shoots anyone, if I have a say in the matter. We're making good time, though. We'll be out of Genoa in three minutes."

"This is what we're going to do," said Miguel. He wiped his brow with his free hand and gestured at the seat. "Thorne, you're going to sit in the seat next to me."

"Oh, goody," said Thorne.

" _You're going to shut up for the rest of the trip_. And you're not going to try anything funny. If I even suspect in the slightest that you're going to do something untoward, I will not hesitate to shoot you. And Cress is going to sit in the back, so she's not going to have enough time to jump in front of you if I do decide to shoot you. Got it?"

"But—" said Cress.

"I said, got it?" he said.

Thorne raised his hand, which made Miguel raise the gun to eye level again. "One request, if I may," he said.

"What?"

"I'd like to borrow a portscreen. I need to look up the word _Shell_."

"Fine."

Miguel lowered the gun. Thorne thought about throwing Cress off of him and tackling Miguel for all of ten seconds, then decided against it. He'd had enough life-threatening confrontations for one day. Instead, he peeled Cress off him, leaving him with some unladylike fluids on his shirt.

He didn't look at her as he walked quietly to the first row of seats, nor as she passed him to go sit in the back.

Miguel slid in next to him with a scowl. After handing Thorne his portscreen, he let out a long sigh. "Cress, can you double check that this hover is still untraceable?"

"Okay," said Cress.

Thorne heard her start typing at the same time that he began his own investigation on the portscreen.

The search term _Lunar Shells_ returned 3,339 articles, 72 conspiracy theory blogs, and a whopping 14,594 works of fiction. After reading three articles detailing the history of Cyprus Blackburn and the so-called "lunar gift" that Shells were apparently immune to, Thorne read only two posts on the conspiracy blogs before he'd had enough. As he was closing out the tabs, his eyes snagged on the hits for works of fiction. The most popular story was called _The Shell and The Earthen: When the Stars Aligned._

Thorne groaned and shut the port as quickly as possible.


	20. Chapter 20

The hover slowed to a stop on the nearly vacant street in the city of Aosta, about six hours yet from Paris. Despite his willingness to stay alert during the ride from Genoa, he'd dozed off a few times. It hadn't stopped him from hearing snippets of Cress and Miguel's conversation, though. From what he'd picked up and the general trajectory of the flight, Paris was likely the end destination.

Not that Thorne minded. Now that he didn't think a crazy Lunar in Paris was stalking Cress, he could probably collect the Rampion without worrying that said Lunar was trying to track him too.

Shaking his head as Giovanni turned off the engine, he amended his last thought.

He didn't have to worry that a crazy _kidnapping_ Lunar was stalking Cress and therefore him by default.

Miguel had definitely stalked Cress.

Cress had definitely stalked him.

Twice, to be exact.

At least the second time had proven more to his advantage.

Sort of.

Now he was not only wanted in the American Republic and Australia, but also in the European Federation. Sure, he wasn't in jail, but the idea of having a third nation hunting him was no joyride either. In fact, if Miguel had never stalked Cress in the first place, he wouldn't be in his current predicament. And if Cress had never stalked him and then blackmailed him…

He couldn't do anything to change that now.

There was a slight dent in the plan he'd concocted while in his cell. One of them being that Miguel had the upper hand because he held the gun. The second one was that, with the new information presented to him about Shells, Thorne was once again finding himself in a morally ambiguous situation.

Smiling as saccharine as possible at Miguel, he hopped out of the hover. Thankfully, the time on the hover had given him enough rest that his legs no longer ached or shook from running. Miguel jumped down behind him, the gun at his side and trained on Thorne, and extended his hand to help Cress down as well.

She had a backpack slung over one shoulder and clutched her portscreen tightly. Turning to Giovanni, she said, "Remember our deal. If you don't tell anyone where we are, I'll wipe those incriminating photos off the record. I'll also give you ten thousand univs for your trouble and the fuel costs."

" _Ten thousand_?" said Thorne. "That better be coming out of Miguel's bank account and not ours." Saying _ours_ made him feel strange. As if Cress and him were still a team. Or whatever they had been, before she'd betrayed him. Or Miguel had betrayed him.

Whatever it was.

"I have my own account now," said Cress briskly, but kept her focus on Giovanni. "If I get wind of any law enforcement on our trail, I will release those photos and you will not receive any payment."

"How do I know you'll deliver?" he said.

Miguel gritted his teeth at Giovanni. "You don't really have a choice in the matter, do you, pilot? Unless you want to spend the night with us."

"I'll keep my promise," Cress insisted. "It'll come from an untraceable account within twenty-four hours. That's all we need."

Giovanni stared blankly at the control panel, tapping his feet over and over against the pedals. "Fine."

"Thank you, Giovanni," said Cress.

Miguel nodded at Thorne to walk, so he did. He didn't know where he was supposed to go, but he didn't feel like getting shot, so he just moved. Behind him, the hover roared back to life and took off. When it was in the air, the only thing left to hear was the padding of Miguel and Cress's footsteps. Miguel, who was almost as tall as Thorne, took one step for every two of Cress's.

"Maybe we should take another hover to another town," Miguel said to Cress.

Thorne thought that was a great idea. Cress, however, did not, and soon she had convinced Miguel that Giovanni was as tame as a lamb. A lamb who was scared of the big, bad wolf.

Cress was apparently the wolf in this scenario.

"Make a right here," said Miguel.

Thorne did, turning onto a street that had at least two other people within their vicinity.

"Put the gun _away_ ," hissed Cress.

"No," said Miguel loudly, but then commanded Thorne to stop walking.

Thorne stopped and turned around, unable to keep the irritation off of his face. "Yes, _sir_?" he said mockingly.

"Cress is going to go into one of these shops and buy you some normal clothes. We can't have you walking around in a guard's uniform all day."

Thorne clapped slowly. "And the Lunar finally has a smart plan."

Miguel ignored him. He took Cress's backpack from her and gave her a wink. "Maybe something with a hood?"

She nodded and took off down the street.

"Nothing too warm!" Thorne called after her.

Miguel's expression turned sour. He slipped his hand with the gun into his jacket pocket but did not remove his hand. Thorne could see the outline of him clutching the gun and chose to look elsewhere, wondering why Miguel wasn't sweating. He began to hum as his eyes wandered around the street and took in the shops.

There was something distinctly less charming about this town compared to Genoa. Perhaps it was the lack of the sea or the lack of merchants milling about. It could have just been the bad company, though, that gave him that impression.

"Let's have a chat," said Miguel crossly.

"Let's not," said Thorne and continued humming.

He probably could have made a run for it by now, if he really wanted to, but what he really wanted to do was sleep. His assets had been frozen by the Genoan authorities as soon as they had swiped his wrist and discovered his fake identity. Now that he was no longer in a highly stressful situation, he was hoping to at least bum a night off the two of them before he took off.

Miguel stepped in front of his view, forcing him to look at him. "I don't know what you're planning on saying to Cress, but it better not be the words _I love you_."

Thorne snorted.

"I'm serious."

"Listen, Miguel. You seem like a crazy guy, so I'm just going to lay this out plainly for you. I'm not in love with Cress."

Miguel raised an eyebrow, to which Thorne raised both of his in turn. Miguel's frown grew, causing him to look wrinkly. "And you're not going to use the fact that she thinks she's in love with you against her."

"I'm not entirely certain if that's a statement, question, or threat."

"She's not in love with you."

"Clearly."

"She's just never had anyone to care about before."

"Of course."

"Do you think this is a joke?"

Thorne wanted to strangle him. Deciding against the thought as soon as it surfaced, he managed to put on a cocky smile. There were other ways to piss Miguel off. "You'd be laughing too if you knew how many women have told me they loved me."

Miguel spit on the ground just as he had on the hover. "You disgust me, Earthen."

Thorne looked down at the saliva by his shoe. "I could say the same thing about you, Lunar."

Miguel glared at him with such burning hatred Thorne thought he might pull out his gun again. When he didn't, Thorne relaxed and turned away from Miguel. He smirked to himself even as he began to hum the same tune.

Cress returned shortly thereafter with a bag and determined look. She managed to pass the bag to him all while avoiding eye contact, which was perfectly fine with him. He inspected the contents of the bag, which had a few items of clothing, among them something that looked like a hooded sweatshirt without sleeves.

Of all the things Cress could have picked.

Thorne changed in an alley off the road they had turned onto, with Cress and Miguel both turning away to give him privacy as he peeled off the guard's uniform top and undershirt. The sweat from his prison break had dried and practically glued the undershirt to his body. Disgusted with himself now, Thorne hoped that wherever they were going would have a shower.

He covered his hair and half of his face with the hood and crossed his now bare arms, appreciating the way his muscles flexed despite the ugly choice of clothing.

Cress spoke to Thorne's feet when she explained that she had managed to secure a small apartment for them not far from where they were now. It would only be a five minute walk.

When they reached the apartment, Miguel's shoulders visibly relaxed in relief once the door was shut behind him. Stashing the gun completely this time, he let out a long breath. "Finally."

Thorne echoed the thought in his mind and entered the apartment. He took one look at the small kitchenette, bathroom, and doors for the two bedrooms. Without a moment's hesitation, he walked into the bigger of the two.

Miguel followed.

"Can I help you?" said Thorne icily, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off the boots he'd stolen from Alessandro.

"No," said Miguel, depositing his own backpack next to Thorne's boots.

Thorne took one look at it and got off the bed. "Ohh no. I don't think so."

"What?"

"You," he said, pointing at Miguel and then at the door, "are sleeping with Cress."

Miguel looked at Thorne like he was crazy. "I am not. Cress gets her own room. There are only two beds."

"Not my problem."

"Yes it is. Cress—"

"Aces, I don't care! I just spent the last few days in _jail_. Sleeping on a little cot. Because of _you_. I'm getting my own bed and the biggest bed for that matter, thank you very much!"

"Miguel?"

They both spun around. Cress had appeared in the doorway. She still didn't look at Thorne.

Miguel sucked in a breath, clearly trying to contain whatever retort he'd had ready for Thorne. "Yes, Cress?"

"Thorne's right," she said quietly. "He gets his own room and his own bed."

"But—"

Cress grabbed his hand and tugged. "Come on, I know a trick with the pillows that helps make it almost like two single beds."

Jaw set, Miguel leaned down and grabbed his backpack off the ground. He let Cress lead him out.

Thorne kicked the door shut behind them.

* * *

The longest shower of his life helped Thorne wash away not only the sweat and grime from prison but also some of the bad mood he'd accumulated since escaping.

He sprawled out spread eagle on his bed and savored the down feathers in the comforter beneath him. It was too warm to sleep underneath it, but _stars_ , did it feel nice and soft.

He was starting to doze off when there was a weak knock on the door.

He ignored it.

The knocking grew louder.

" _What_?" he said, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Are you decent?" came the small squeak of Cress's voice.

Thorne covered his face with his hands. He considered lying and saying that slept in the nude when he was alone, but the thought of her blushing so furiously behind the door was enough to almost make him crack a smile. Grumbling, he propped himself up on his elbows. "Yeah."

The door opened, revealing Cress silhouetted in the doorway from the light in the hallway. He could still tell that she had changed into shorts and some sort of tank top. There was a box flat in her hand and from it came the most mouth-watering aroma.

"Hi…" she said, shutting the door behind her.

The room plunged into darkness and the most awkward silence he'd ever experienced. Clearing his throat, he said quickly, "Lights on!"

He stared at her when the overhead light blinked on. Cress was frozen in front of the door, box still in hand. It still smelled amazing.

"Hi," she tried again.

Thorne didn't say anything.

She made her way to the bed slowly, as if it were meters rather than just steps away, causing him to pull himself into a seated position.

Cress deposited the box on top of the comforter by his feet. "I…brought a peace offering. It's not much but…" she trailed off, pulling on a strand of her hair and looking down. "I hope you like pizza?"

Thorne opened the box immediately. There were too many vegetables and it was the wrong type of meat but it made him drool nonetheless. He snatched a piece up and took a huge bite, letting the cheese burn his tongue and not caring. He had missed real food so much.

He noticed Cress finally looking at him when he'd taken at least three or four more bites. She was watching him, actually. Studying him.

"So you think you can bribe me with pizza?"

Her eyes widened. "No! Of course not! I thought you might be hungry, is all. You seemed starved on the hover and I—"

" _Chill._ I'm too tired for you to be an emotional wreck right now." She clamped her jaw shut and stood there, her hands still pulling on her hair. It was such a familiar tick—she did it when she was nervous. He let her stew in her nerves for a good minute until he pushed the box forward with his foot. "Eat."

She shook her head. "I already ate while you were in the shower."

He helped himself to another piece. "Where'd you get this?"

"Miguel went out and bought it."

He curled his lip.

Cress grabbed the bedpost like it was a prison bar separating the two of them. "Miguel, he…he means well, Thorne. He's sorry about turning you in."

"No he's not."

"He _is_. He was scared, just like I was."

"Well, thanks to your _scared_ buddy, I've added assault and prison break to my criminal record. So sorry if I'm not in the mood to listen to your apologies."

Her eyes dropped to the floor again. He studied her hair, wondering if it was blonder than he remembered since he'd last seen her because of the sun or because he was just too tired to remember if it had always looked like it glowed against the light.

"I was taken from my home when they found out I was a Shell and placed in a lava tube dormitory where no one knew we were alive," she said. "That's where I met Miguel. I got good at hacking and eventually Mistress Sybil—she's a Thaumaturge, that's a—"

"I know what a Thaumaturge is. I've heard all the bedtime horror stories meant to frighten little children."

"Oh," she said, then continued: "Mistress Sybil took me away to the satellite when I was eight. I've lived there ever since in isolation, forced to do coding and hacking on behalf of Queen Levana. If there had been a way out, Thorne…if I could have done anything to get away, I would have." She finally looked up at him. He was annoyed that she was still able to stun him by the intensity of her blue eyes. "I did what I had to do. I never meant to hurt you. I was planning on telling you…eventually."

"What's Miguel's excuse?"

"Miguel was stuck there in the lava tubes with the other Shells, until one day they rebelled against the Thaumaturges. They couldn't control them, you see. A few Thaumaturges were killed. He managed to get away and then escaped Luna as a stowaway on a ship. He's been alone for so long, Thorne. Without anyone he can trust. He's…he's sorry he didn't trust you."

Thorne wiped some crumbs off his face. "Was that all you wanted to tell me, sweetheart?"

Her face fell. "Please don't start calling me that again."

"I'm going to call you whatever I want."

Cress let go of the bedpost and her hair, her hands balling into fists at her sides. She bit her lip—hard. "On the hover," she started, trying to look at him but choosing a spot over his shoulder instead, "when I said…that I…um…did you…hear…?"

Thorne let out a strangled laugh. "Oh stars, don't tell me you're here for _that_. Shutting the door, bringing me food, apologizing, acting all coy in your little shorts." He waved a hand at her outfit. "Not gonna happen, sweetheart."

She clasped her hands behind her back, her face growing redder by the second. "No, that wasn't…um…"

"You're not the first person who's confessed their love for me and you certainly won't be the last. Women do crazy things to get my attention _all_ the time." He snapped his fingers and grinned at her. "Just like you, jumping in front of a gun to save me. Brilliant move, but…I prefer my women a little more…what's the word I'm searching for? Oh… _Earthen_. I'm sure you can understand the whole…different planet, different moon…thing. Sorry if you got the wrong impression. Good effort, though."

"Thorne…"

Her eyes began to get wet and that was his cue. He jumped off the bed, picked up the pizza box, and pushed it into her now-trembling hands.

"Thanks for the pizza. It was delicious. And hey, no hard feelings, okay? We're even now. I saved you, you saved me." He practically shoved her out of the room. "You sleep well now."

He closed the door quickly and dropped back into his bed.

"Lights off," he commanded immediately.

Despite the heat, he covered himself with as much of the comforter as possible. He didn't want to hear if she was crying or not. Tonight he just wanted to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

When she woke up the next morning, Cress's ribs ached from cocooning herself into a sideways lump on the mattress she had shared with Miguel. The positioning reminded her of her earlier days on the satellite when she'd cowered under the bed, afraid of the moon's enormity and proximity.

Not that she was afraid of Miguel. His presence should have been more comforting, but he'd acted annoyed that he had to sleep next to Cress so she hadn't wanted to take up too much space in the bed. He had put up with a lot since their reunion, what with breaking Thorne out of jail and all.

Of course, he had been the reason for Thorne getting put in jail in the first place.

She tried not to think about it as she pushed herself to a sitting position and rubbed first her eyes, then her ribs. If she dwelled on it, then she had to admit to herself that Thorne had every right to be mad at her. The additions to Thorne's criminal record were all her doing, even if Miguel was the one who had technically commed the police.

Even though she tried to convince herself that Thorne would have been arrested in New Beijing anyway, all of her actions had now linked his fate with hers. And she had let that fate spiral out of control by not telling him the truth.

If she thought about it too much then she would never make it out of the bed to face her two companions and the humiliatingly awkward looks and conversations that would surely ensue.

Beyond mortified after Thorne had slammed the door in her face, she had waited last night to return to her room until Miguel had fallen asleep. There was no way she could tell him what Thorne had said— _insinuated_ , even. Miguel already didn't like Thorne at all and this would just make him hate him more.

Cress had tried to hate Thorne too while she sat alone in the living room without even her portscreen to keep her company.

Hatred and revulsion had been such easy feelings to conjure and then bask in back on the Rampion when she'd just gotten to know the ex-cadet who insisted he was a captain.

And now, somehow, she had stupidly fallen in love with him.

And he….

He thought that _she_ ….

It didn't matter. Thorne would surely leave them today, if Miguel permitted it. She would insist he allow it. None of them were in immediate danger at the moment and as long as Thorne didn't say anything to taunt him…

No, that was not what she wanted to think about either, since the probability of Thorne doing exactly that was too high.

Sighing, she stood up and searched through her backpack for the sole clean dress that was now wrinkly at the bottom. She had been too tired last night to hang it up. Strangely enough, she had the feeling that if Thorne had been sharing a room with her like in Paris, _he_ would have hung up the dress for her before she'd even returned to the room.

Those days were long gone. He didn't love her and he would leave and she would let him go and smile and wish him well.

She knew how horrible it was to be kept somewhere against her will, and she would not inflict the same pain on Thorne. He had his home on the Rampion, with his maps and Second Era pencils and plans.

Cress wasn't a part of those plans.

* * *

"Good morning," she mumbled, sliding into a chair at the kitchen table.

It was square, so it put her in between Miguel and Thorne, who sat stone still and didn't look at each other. In the middle of the table were an assortment of more croissant-like pastries. She wanted to snap a picture of one and ask her portscreen to match it with the correct name, but the atmosphere around the table waned her enthusiasm.

Miguel pushed a piping cup of tea towards her empty plate. "Late night?"

Cress was surprised to find his voice clipped and dry. When she looked at him for the reason behind his tone, his eyes darted disapprovingly in Thorne's direction then back to hers with a shake of his head. Heat flushed her neck and face instantly when she caught his meaning, and it didn't help that Thorne made a sound between a snort and a cough.

Miguel thought that something had happened between her and Thorne and that was why she hadn't come back to the room.

And Thorne thought the entire idea of it was preposterous.

She hastily reached for a pastry and fixed her stare on the croissant-like _thing_ now on her plate and told herself that she was an android who had no feelings and couldn't blush.

"What's…the plan, um…for today?" she forced out, as if talking to her breakfast. Before anyone could respond she rushed on, eager to change the focus of the conversation, but found herself blurting out nonsense: "Obviously I don't mean that I don't know the general plan. Thorne is leaving and Miguel and I are headed back to Paris but I'm more wondering about time and if we're in a rush because the past few days have been a blur and maybe we could at least visit one shop without a gun or needing to run somewhere but _stars_ I can just talk to Miguel about our day and it's not like Thorne is concerned with this and _does anyone even know what these pastries are called_ because they look—"

A hand on her wrist made her shut up.

Thorne's hand.

It was gone again as quickly as it had appeared.

"I'm coming to Paris with you," said Thorne.

Her heart sped up.

"Like hell you are," said Miguel.

"Miguel!" said Cress, shooting a treacherous glare at Miguel while she tried to calm her pounding heart. If Thorne wanted to come to Paris, then maybe he had changed his mind about her. About _everything_.

Miguel sucked in a breath through his teeth before giving Cress a smile laced with venom—one that had been directed at Thorne countless times in the last twenty-four hours. It made her want to shrink back into her seat. "I think I've been pretty patient, Cress. I keep telling you over and over that I'm trying to help you."

"She was doing fine before you came along," Thorne inserted.

"This guy is a thief and a player and a total _joke_ ," said Miguel, pointing his knife accusatorily in the general direction of Thorne's chest. "Whatever he promised you last night in the sheets were lies."

Cress choked on her pastry as Thorne began laughing hysterically.

"See?" said Miguel. "He thinks this is funny. He doesn't respect you, Cress, and he never will. Forget Lunars and Earthens, since you obviously won't listen to me about that. But at least listen to me about this. You're new to dating so you don't understand yet about guys like him. They want one thing and as soon as they get it they'll drop you. We'll get to Paris and you'll never see him again, I can promise you that."

Thorne rocked back in his chair, a scowl replacing the last remnants of laughter. "The only person who's a joke around here is you, Miguel. Stop babying Cress. She's perfectly capable of making her own decisions." He turned to Cress, who quickly stared back down at her plate. She knew she should insert herself in the conversation but the words weren't coming. "If you're going to get a warning about a guy then let me take this opportunity to give you one about your buddy here."

This made Cress look up, though she only managed to keep her eyes on one of Thorne's ears.

"A warning about _me_? Please," Miguel scoffed.

"You're the embodiment of someone she should be warned about. Guys like you just want to control everything. There are other ways to disrespect women besides taking advantage of them."

"I'm not controlling Cress," he snarled.

"Maybe not with _glamour_. You've done nothing but make decisions for her since you've arrived, claiming you know what's best for her. Have you even bothered to ask if that's what _she_ thinks is best?"

"She doesn't know what's best for her!"

Miguel's outburst echoed in the little apartment until the whole room fell to a deafening silence. Cress placed her head in her trembling hands. This was not quite the humiliatingly awkward scenario she'd imagined in her room earlier, but it was pretty close.

"Stop," she said quietly. " _Please_ , stop fighting."

"We don't need to fight anymore because Thorne isn't coming with us to Paris."

"Stop being a bully!" Cress burst out.

Thorne snickered, but she turned her anger on him. "And I know you're mad at everyone and upset about going to jail and certainly _don't_ love me, but it would help if you could stop being so hostile!"

He opened his mouth to speak but she raised her trembling hand to silence him.

"He…he didn't tell you he loved you?" said Miguel.

The heat returned to Cress's face.

"No," Thorne answered for her. "I did exactly as you _commanded_ , Miguel."

" _What?_ " said Cress, the flushed feeling intensifying with the hints of an oncoming headache. Miguel had told Thorne to—but— _what_?

"It's nothing, Cress," said Miguel, eerily calm for once. "I misjudged Thorne. I'm…sorry."

"Obviously I don't forgive you," said Thorne, flicking a crumb in Miguel's direction. But his voice held no hostility.

"But…why do you want to come to Paris?" asked Cress, still trying to sort through the small amount of hope this conversation had put in her heart. "I didn't even think you'd be here when we both woke up."

He shrugged. "I need a ride back to the Rampion."

It was like a cold hand reached into her heart and squeezed. He didn't care about her at all. He just wanted a ride. To his ship and his maps and his plans.

Miguel raised an eyebrow. "And then you plan to leave us?"

"Of course."

It was such an obvious _of course_ , as if he were being asked to accept a million univs without having to work for it.

"Great," said Cress, pushing away from the table and snatching up another pastry. "I'll just get ready then and leave you two to work out the details. Try—try not to kill each other."

She zipped away, nearly careening into a loveseat with a flowery pattern that stood not far from the table.

* * *

There was a knock on her door, but whoever it was didn't bother waiting for her to respond. Cress kept her face glued to her portscreen anyway, where she was switching between three different newsfeeds that discussed the recent escape of fugitive Carswell Thorne. Two of them were only local news sources, but the American Republic government feed had also issued a report about it.

No one could figure out who had turned him in nor who had helped him escape. The hover pilot had kept their deal so far, but she would keep a close eye on him. Though she had deflected any security cameras from seeing their arrival, there was no telling who might have picked up on their escape within the city.

" _2 G on L Corridor. 57 S_."

Cress reluctantly looked up at Thorne, who was leaning against the open door with his thumbs hooked through his belt loops. She smoothed a piece of her hair back from her face so she wouldn't play with it. "What?"

" _2 G on L Corridor. 57 S_ ," he repeated. "It's what you typed to me while asking for the password. I thought it _was_ the password, but then you told me I was an idiot when access was denied."

"Oh. There were two guards in the left corridor and they were arriving in fifty-seven seconds. I was trying to warn you."

His face relaxed into a small smile.

"Clearly it didn't work." She reached for the strand of hair she had just tucked back. But despite the small security it initially offered, the strand she twirled around her finger suddenly reminded her that Thorne had actually helped shape her hair in this manner. She dropped her hand and clutched her port instead.

"No one's figured out where you are yet."

"Cress."

"The hover driver hasn't reported anything yet either," she continued.

" _Cress."_

She shoved her port away from her and saw that Thorne now stood only a few feet away. "Yes?"

His eyes searched hers for a second before he rocked back on his heels. The smile had vanished from his face but he still appeared relaxed. And maybe a little nervous, if that was possible. "I know last night didn't exactly go…as you had hoped." He cleared his throat. "Not that I really thought you would, uh… _anyway_ , the point is…"

He paused, and Cress really hoped he would get to the point soon so she could hide away under the covers forever, but he didn't seem to find the right words in time.

"I lied," she blurted. "On the hover. That's what I wanted to tell you yesterday."

Thorne stopped fidgeting. "You lied?"

"About loving you." She hoped that her airy laugh convinced him more than it convinced her. "I only said that on the hover so that he wouldn't shoot you."

"Oh."

Thorne seemed surprised and then…disappointed. It made her annoyed, since it confirmed her suspicions that he was cocky enough to assume any girl should be madly in love with him. The disappointment only lasted momentarily though.

"Well…that's good," said Thorne. "Avoided a whole awkward"—he circled his hands around—"… _yeah_. Good, good."

"Are we ready to go?" she asked, beyond eager to change the subject.

"Almost. Miguel's out buying some supplies for me. Gotta change my look again. You know how it is."

"Okay."

"Cress?"

"Yeah?"

"You really trust that guy?"

Cress bristled. Not this again. "Look, I know he turned you in, but—"

"It's not that." He sat down on the edge of the bed, making Cress curl her toes toward her body so she wouldn't be as close to him. "I have instincts about people," he continued. "I don't think he's really looking out for you."

"Thorne, don't you think your instincts about people have been really off lately?"

He let out a laugh. "I guess you could say that. You Lunars certainly have a way of making a guy crazy."

"I'm sorry again," she said, wanting to reach out to him but never feeling so constricted in her movements. She had to be careful now with how she reacted to him.

"About that…" He ran a finger absentmindedly over the blanket. Dangerously close to her feet. "Thanks for helping me break out. I'm sorry I was such a cad yesterday. It's…been a stressful few days."

"I know."

"I still hate Miguel."

"I know."

He stood.

"You don't know what it's like to fear Queen Levana yet. Her ships have only just started showing up. But to know she's hunting you is a completely different story. Miguel…he knows what that feels like. I know he seems like a jerk sometimes, but—"

"All the time. He seems like a jerk all the time."

"Okay, he seems like a jerk _frequently_ , but he's only ever been kind to me. He helped me with coordinating your prison break but he's too annoyed at you to ever admit that. I trust him and you should too."

Thorne didn't look like he believed her, but he just shrugged. "After tomorrow it won't matter, will it?"

"No, it won't," she conceded.

He nodded and strolled back toward the doorway.

When he had shut her door, she waited a few more seconds before flopping back against her pillow in relief. She had convinced him. And soon, she would convince herself too.

She just had to make it through one more day of pretending like she didn't care.

Just one day. That was all.

But after everything that had happened since she'd left the satellite, one day seemed like a much more daunting amount of time than it ought. Cress had learned that way too much could happen in one day on Earth.


	22. Chapter 22

"Stars!" Cress squeaked, her hand flying to her mouth when Thorne emerged from the bathroom. Her eyes raked over his face, wide and disbelieving.

Grumbling, he brushed past her and continued to his room. He knew he looked ridiculous, and he didn't need her to remind him. With a barely-there buzz cut and fake facial hair attached to his chin, his beard-to-hair ratio was completely off, and it disturbed him more than it could ever disturb anyone else. People gifted with natural good looks were not meant to dress up as ugly.

The beard was itchy too. The thick, square glasses covering his now green-colored eyes sat on his ears and pushed on the part where the beard was glued on. Miguel had bought him a pair of jeans that were faded and a European Federation tourist shirt. He stuck out like a sore thumb but more in the obvious-tourist way, not in the stylish-escaped-convict-Carswell-Thorne way, which was what he wanted.

It was a good thing he'd been clean-shaven for his prison photo, which was now circulating the media outlets. The flippant wink he'd given the camera represented him well. The strange persona he was wearing now probably didn't smile or flirt. He was nothing like Captain Carswell Thorne.

No one would recognize him.

"Miguel said you needed this?" said Cress, startling Thorne out of his thoughts.

She held out a walking stick. Thorne raised an eyebrow, which was also furrier than usual and made the facial expression feel heavy. A quick scan of the stick, however, brought a smile to his lips.

So Miguel _could_ be useful after all.

It was one thing to be an obvious tourist who didn't belong. It was a whole different thing entirely to be a blind tourist. Hardly anyone was blind these days, what with the technology and medical expertise that existed in the Third Era. The ones that remained so usually came from more poverty-ridden sectors of society or had a condition that prevented cybernetic operations.

"Are you going to be my guide?" he asked, taking the stick away from her and throwing it on the bed. He slipped into his boots, tying the laces as tightly as possible. If he was going to pretend that he was blind, he didn't want to trip—guide or not.

"It'll only be necessary for the train ride," she said, staring down at her feet. "How else will we get you on there without someone checking your ID?"

"Indeed."

Silence filled the room, reminding Thorne of how uneasy things had been between them when they'd first escaped the satellite. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Ready to go?"

"Yes."

"Great."

After more than a few beats of silence, they both shuffled out, meeting Miguel's hostile look in the living room. He made a show of strapping his gun—Thorne's gun, really, since he had stolen it from the guards, not Miguel—in place in front of them, exuding his authority.

Thorne resisted the urge to let out a dramatic sigh.

There was enough drama between the three of them already and he didn't need more.

"We're catching the high-speed train at ten," said Miguel. "So with that deadline in mind, let's move."

Thorne leaned dramatically on his cane for effect and closed his eyes. It was a strange feeling, not being able to see, and he quickly stumbled into the wall with a loud _oof._

Miguel jerked him back roughly by the shirt. "Cut it out."

Thorne straightened up off his cane, drawing himself to his full height. He didn't glare though, remembering how Cress had asked them not to fight. Instead, he smiled cockily, though he had nothing to smile about. He just knew that it would irritate Miguel. "I'm so excited to spend my day with you, Miguel. You're always such a joy to be around. How did Cress and I ever get along without you?"

When Miguel was the one who glared, Thorne's grin turned triumphant.

* * *

"We're almost there," Cress whispered, clutching Thorne's arm tightly. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought Cress were the one needing assistance, not the other way around.

His eyes had begun to water when he'd tried to stare blankly and unfocused at people through his glasses, like how he imagined someone without sight might, so he'd ditched the glasses promptly. But even with his eyes fully closed, Cress insisted that he kept squinting strangely. When he'd groaned in frustration and asked her just _exactly_ what he was supposed to do remedy to the situation then, Cress—always more capable than he gave her credit for—had only thought for a few seconds, then lit up with an idea. To his dismay, she'd removed the headband she had around her hair and told him to put it around his eyes like a blindfold.

He was still wearing the makeshift blindfold now. They had passed the automated androids swiping wrists, choosing a human staff member instead. Miguel, to his surprise, had done an excellent job fussing over Thorne's rights as a disabled person and whether or not the train was up to par with the standards they were used to in the United Kingdom. Somewhat flustered after all of Miguel's questions, he'd let them pass, forgetting to charge not only Thorne, but all three of them.

"Stop."

Thorne paused, feeling Cress scoot under his arm and in front of him. With a shaky hand, she guided his own hand to rest on her shoulder. "This is a narrow corridor. Follow where I go."

Still leaning on the walking stick, Thorne held on to Cress's shoulder. He counted his steps, but by the time he'd reached twenty he'd forgotten that he was counting and was having a hard time concentrating on anything but the way the curve of Cress's shoulder felt against his palm.

He mentally cursed at his wandering thoughts. He would _not_ think of Cress's skin. He would _not_ think of the way her hair fell just above where his hand was, tickling his own skin when it swished as she walked. And he would _definitely_ not think of when he'd barely stopped himself from kissing her in Paris.

_Paris._

Where he was going now. To get away from Cress.

The train lifted onto the maglev track, shifting slightly to the right. His grip on her shoulder tightened instinctively for balance, but he loosened it instantly, afraid that he might hurt her. But then it was just the pads of his fingertips against her skin, and the thought of trailing them up her neck and making her shiver in delight popped into his mind.

And then, so did annoyance.

Why couldn't Cress just be a manipulating Lunar who ruined his life?

Why did she have to be a _Shell_?

If she were just a manipulating Lunar, he wouldn't have to justify every thought he'd had about her since he'd met her. He could remain content in his anger and ignorance and betrayal.

But despite his attempts, he had barely gotten a wink of sleep, once again hating the way his gut tightened whenever he thought about Cress alone on the satellite.

He would have tried to save his own skin too. Blackmailing would have been the least of his transgressions.

But blackmailing _him_ …messing up his life the way she had? He didn't know if he could forgive that, no matter what else he thought.

No matter how much those eyes of hers were really her own and not just a tortured figment of his imagination.

A hand rested atop his. It was sweaty. Cress?

"You can turn right now."

_Cress._

Once safely in the compartment, Thorne ripped off the headband. Miguel was already perched on a bench-like chair, legs splayed, his nose buried in his portscreen. Cress sat next to Miguel, but she remained upright and anxious, her hands folded in her lap. When he caught her eyes, she dipped her lashes down and swallowed.

Thorne swiveled and laid down on his own seat, propping his feet up on the vacant spot next to him. He wanted to sleep, but since he had just been privy to darkness for over an hour, he found himself unable to succumb to blackness again. Instead he watched the way the ceiling wavered ever so slightly to the rhythm of the train moving.

"Not much in comparison to the train we took to get over here, huh?" he said, letting his arm swing down the side until his hand was almost touching the ground.

"No."

He glanced over at her. Her positioning hadn't changed. He returned his gaze to the ceiling. "Why didn't we take the same overnighter? I'm sure we can all use the sleep."

"Miguel wanted to take this train."

"Ah."

"Don't _ah_ me," came Miguel's voice. Thorne didn't bother looking over. He could already see his irritating face. He wasn't worth getting riled up about anymore. "I'm making sure we arrive by five."

That made Thorne turn his head. "What's happening at five?"

Miguel's eyes narrowed. "It's when the train arrives in Paris. If we take your luxurious overnighter, we won't get there until tomorrow."

"What's your rush, Miguel? Got someone waiting for you at home?"

"Actually, I do."

Next to him, Cress squealed. "What! You don't tell me anything."

"There hasn't really been any time, Cress."

She beamed, though, leaning into his shoulder with a happy nudge. "Tell me _everything_. What's he like? How'd you meet him?"

Thorne turned back to the ceiling, bored at the change in topics.

Miguel laughed, and though Thorne was ignoring him, he imagined Miguel snaking his arm around Cress like the creepy, over-protective friend he was.

"I've only just met him recently. We've gotten close."

"That's still so exciting! And here I thought you would never trust anyone again."

Miguel harrumphed.

Thorne, however, pointed an accusatory finger at Miguel. "I hope you realize how much of a hypocrite you are, Miguel. You nearly shot me because you don't believe in relationships between Earthens and Lunars. And here you are, secretly dating an Earthen yourself."

Miguel only smiled icily at Thorne. "If I recall correctly, I told Cress to forget about the entire Earthen-Lunar argument. My qualms are with you, not the Earthens." He pursed his lips in thought. "No, also most Earthens, if I'm being honest."

Cress, no longer beaming as much as before but rather looking like she wanted to diffuse a bomb that could potentially explode, waved her hand at Thorne. "That whole…um, debacle…was all a big misunderstanding. I've explained it to Miguel. If he wants to date an Earthen, I'll support him. He has the right to be suspicious of whoever he wants."

Thorne snorted. Arguing with Cress about Miguel's love life was the last thing he wanted to waste his breath on. He was already annoyed with himself for breaching the topic of Earthens dating Lunars. That topic should remain forbidden indefinitely between them, regardless of whether Cress actually loved him or not.

"I'm going to get something to eat. Want to join me, love?" said Miguel to Cress.

He had stood up and already clipped his port onto his belt next to the gun before Cress had a chance to respond. She looked between Miguel and Thorne uncertainly. "I'm not hungry," she said meekly. "Too many of those pastries."

"Of course. I'll bring something back for you."

"I'll join you," said Thorne reluctantly. His stomach wouldn't feed itself and he needed to get money off of someone in order to eat.

"You should leave the compartment as little as possible," said Miguel. "I guess I'll bring something back for everyone."

"Fine by me," said Thorne.

As soon as the door locked behind Miguel, Thorne righted himself and moved to sit down next to Cress. He knew she would probably avoid looking at him if he looked at her, so he propped his elbows on his knees and stared at the now-empty bench across from them. The dull roar of the train made the silence between them slightly more bearable, but not quite bearable enough. Thorne kicked at a piece of gravel that was loose on the carpeted floor. "Haven't been alone with you since we were at the beach."

"Not really."

Her voice was low, but he wasn't sure if it was contemplative or nervous. Cress was already hard enough to understand before they'd had their falling out. He might as well accept that this girl would remain a mystery to him forever.

"And now I'm wearing a fake beard," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Cress let out a laugh. "You don't have any hair on your head! I love your—" She stopped abruptly, then cleared her throat. "I mean, you look so different."

"Unrecognizable?" he drawled, unable to suppress a grin from the flattery she had clearly almost doled out. With the exception of the times she spoke up for him in front of Miguel, Cress never complimented him. In fact, he only knew she thought he was attractive from the way she'd checked him out when he'd taken his shirt off in the bathroom. Before that, she'd insisted that his appearance was ugly when she'd met him.

He wasn't used to women thinking he was ugly, and the idea that Cress probably thought he was as ugly as he currently considered himself in this get-up made him uncomfortable. He wished he could pull off the beard.

"That's the point," she said. She pulled her knees underneath her and sighed. "Is that how you'll leave? As a blind guy?"

He shook his head. "I'll leave the cane behind. I have to sneak into the garage anyway to get the Rampion, so it would get in the way."

"Why do you have to sneak in?"

He held up his wrist. "They know my new identity. The staff at the garage where we parked could recognize me."

"Don't you think they'll notice that someone is taking away a ship?"

"It wouldn't be the first time, Cress."

They fell silent again, but Thorne felt less uncomfortable than he had when they'd left the hotel room. He realized that this short break without Miguel would probably be the last time he'd talk to Cress without a third party observer. There were many things that he should probably say at a time like this, if he were a decent person, but he had ruined any chances of being considered a decent person last night.

And when did he ever say goodbye to anyone?

He left.

That's what he did.

He _wanted_ to leave.

"Are you going to be okay?" he decided to ask.

Cress nodded quickly. "Of course. I'll be with Miguel."

Thorne grimaced. "That's why I'm wondering if you'll be okay."

"Please don't start that again, Thorne."

"Okay," he conceded. "As long as you're sure you're fine."

"I am."

"You could comm me some time," he blurted. "If you wanted to, of course. I figure you'll be tracking me anyway, so you might as well say hello from time to time."

She shook her head just as quickly, her eyes growing sad. "I won't track you. I promise."

Thorne shifted in his seat to lean against the bench. In all the scenarios he'd imagined in his mind going forward, Cress was always following his moves. He'd never considered that she'd leave him alone for good now that she knew his identity. He'd planned on multiple identity changes, installing anti-piracy software on the Rampion for hackers, and threatening to turn Cress and Miguel into the police if they so much as whispered his name…

Spades, his whole plan of getting out of jail had hinged on using them as a bargaining chip. Testifying against them as Lunars would surely be worth his freedom, or at minimum, less time in jail.

But sitting there next to Cress, hearing her tell him she would leave him alone—he got the feeling that she _meant_ it.

Did she?

And why was he resisting the urge to squirm from disappointment?

He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Cress. I…appreciate that. I had some time to think last night, after I…uh, calmed down. It was a stressful day—we covered that already. But if you ever wanted to comm me, just to tell me how you're doing…I wouldn't mind."

He bent his head to see her face better, but since he was leaning back he could only see her profile and all of the thick, blonde hair.

"Maybe it's better if we just make a clean break."

 _A clean break_.

It reminded him of the many women he'd once dated and left before things got too serious. Why did Cress saying that now give him a pit in his stomach? They hadn't even dated. Cress didn't love him and he didn't have to pretend to be anything for her like he did with other girls.

He was ready to leave. He wanted to leave. He wanted the nightmare of the last month to be over so he could get on with his life.

The door whooshed back open. Miguel eyed the two of them skeptically, but said nothing. He dropped a plastic-wrapped sandwich in each of their laps, then took the seat across from them.

"Nothing to drink?" said Thorne.

Cress elbowed him. "Thanks for the food, Miguel. I'll save mine for later."

"You're welcome."

"You left before you even gave us any details about your boyfriend, though," she insisted.

"He's not really my boyfriend," said Miguel slowly.

"Whatever you want to call him. You didn't tell us about your _special someone_."

"I'm not talking about anything in front of this guy," said Miguel, jabbing his thumb at Thorne.

Thorne jabbed his thumb at the door in turn. "Feel free to have a chat on your own."

"It doesn't matter, Cress," said Miguel. "We'll meet him later today anyway. That's the real reason I want us to arrive at five." He smiled then, which was unusual for Miguel, but Thorne didn't think it was the smile of a guy who was excited to see his lover.

Next to him, however, Cress squealed again. "Is he meeting us?"

"If you want him to," said Miguel, still smiling.

"Of course I want him to, Miguel!"

"Isn't that nice," Thorne commented dryly. He was still studying Miguel though, trying to figure out why his smile felt so off. "One big happy family."

"Ignore Thorne," said Cress. "I'm excited. _At least_ tell me his name."

Miguel's eyes flashed once to Thorne's before returning his gaze to Cress. He smile stretched across his face, giving him a look of careless happiness.

Thorne frowned.

"Jael."


	23. Chapter 23

Perhaps because of the way he'd been half-laying, half-sitting for most of the ride, the near constant stop-and-go of the maglev train as it halted in the outskirts of Paris was making Thorne rather motion sick. Hands clammy and stomach churning wildly, he double-checked their location on Cress's portscreen. There were only two stops left until the one he would take to pick up the Rampion.

He handed the portscreen back to Cress, thanked her for letting him borrow it, and glanced around for his belongings. It was more habit than instinct, since one look reminded him that all he had was the small pack of clothes that Cress and Miguel had bought him.

The train lifted off the tracks again, making his stomach swoop along with it. He fixed his gaze on the horizon, but found himself looking at the neighborhoods of outer Paris instead. He could see the ruins of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, the former landmark a triangle without its tip. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, but he brushed it away before anyone could notice.

At the next stop, Thorne raised himself unsteadily onto his feet and grabbed his walking stick. Cress nodded and stood up as well.

"Where are you going?" asked Miguel.

"We're getting off at the next stop."

"No we're not," said Miguel. "Paris-Orly isn't for another twenty minutes." He glanced down at his port with a frown.

"Thorne's ship is by an outlet mall where we first landed," said Cress. "It's not anywhere near the center of Paris."

The maglev train rocked again, but it could have been Thorne's imagination, and he wondered if perhaps Miguel had slipped something in his drink during their travels. He body didn't usually react this way unless he was hitting a pocket of turbulence while flying. He pushed the thought away. Miguel was a jerk, but he wasn't _evil_.

Miguel nodded briskly and stood up with his hand extended. "Very well. It's been…" he trailed off, shrugging.

"Nice to meet you?" said Thorne sarcastically, but he shook Miguel's hand anyway.

"You can say goodbye when we get to the ship," said Cress, looking quizzically between the two of them. "Come on, Miguel."

Miguel's head whipped around to face Cress. The quick motion made Thorne want to vomit. "What do you mean, 'come on'? This is where we part ways with Thorne."

Thorne let out a shaky breath and gripped his stick tighter. Of course Cress and Miguel would stay behind. He should have could come up with something better to say to Cress during the many moments of silence in their long ride. But words had never been his forte, and his tumultuous friendship with Cress—if he could even call it that—was beyond simple words.

To his surprise, Cress shook her head. "We have to help Thorne get to his ship without getting caught. He'll need to wear my headband for part of the way."

"It's okay, Cress. Like I said, I'll figure out a way." Thorne waved his hand carelessly to make his point.

"Once you're inside, you will," she insisted. "It's our fault that you were caught the first time, so now I'm going to make sure you aren't caught this time."

"I thought we were even."

"I—"

"No, that won't work," said Miguel. "Cress, we're getting off at Paris-Orly as planned. Jael is meeting us there, remember?"

"I'm sure Jael will understand, Miguel," said Cress, squeezing his hand. Thorne wished Cress would squeeze his hand so that maybe he would have less of the sensation of wanting to fall over. "Comm him and tell him we'll be a little late."

"No," said Miguel, more firmly this time, "we have to meet him at five. We made _plans_."

"Why don't you go ahead? I'll accompany Thorne and then meet you wherever you want afterwards."

"And leave you alone?"

Thorne sensed panic in Miguel's voice, but his mental capacity was full of spinning thoughts and blurred houses of all colors and shapes. "I'm getting off either way," he said, taking a step to the door. "Are you coming or not, Cress?"

"Yes."

"No," said Miguel again.

Thorne slipped on the makeshift blindfold, letting it sit a smidge above where it really needed to be to obscure his vision. He could now see half a step in front of him out of the right corner of his eye. He jabbed the button on the door with his cane to open it. "And he still think he's not controlling," he muttered.

A hand was on his arm, stopping him, but it was small and cold. _Cress._

"I'm coming with you," she insisted.

Miguel let out an exasperated noise but then Thorne heard him move around, perhaps to get his things. Cress's hand remained on his arm, and soon she was leading him out of the compartment. The footsteps behind them indicated that Miguel was, in fact, coming along with them. The thought of him gritting his teeth at their backs made Thorne smirk.

The smirk quickly left his face when the maglev train made a sharp turn to the right. Unlike when he'd gotten on the train and enjoyed the feel of having Cress support him, he was now worried he would throw up on her. Without the line of sight, his motion sickness only intensified.

Luckily, they had disembarked within the next three minutes, and Thorne had managed to keep everything inside. The fresh breeze against his cheeks, though much brisker than the one they'd left behind in Aosta, took some of the nausea away. Blind or not, being on steady ground was a welcome feeling.

After walking only a few minutes, Thorne took off the blindfold and picked up his pace. Cress hurried to keep up with him, and when a throng of people came at them in the busy streets, he grabbed her hand to pull her along. They would only lose time if Cress got lost in the crowd now. And at her height, it was more than possible.

Once they had squeezed through, Thorne glanced over his shoulder at Miguel, who unfortunately had not gotten lost in the crowd. Somehow, he managed to keep up with them despite speaking into his portscreen almost frantically. Thorne wondered what it would be like to have a partner that would be mad about a half hour delay in returning home.

He was distracted by the thought enough that he almost missed the way two of Cress's fingers slipped in between his.

Almost.

Making sure not to meet her eye, he let go of her hand quickly and held her arm instead, guiding her forward not unlike the way she had when he was unable to see.

He spotted the outlet mall in front of them, emerging massively into the sky above the smaller apartment complexes. Breathing a sigh of relief, he tightened his grip on Cress's arm and walked with more purpose. He had made it this far, and there was no way he was going to pause now only to be caught by someone who recognized him on the street.

Plus, he couldn't wait to get the itchy beard off of his face.

"Now what?" whispered Cress.

"Now you let a criminal mastermind do what he was born to do," he said with a smile.

"I could distract the garage owner," said Cress. "What do you think?"

"It's not a bad idea," he said, mostly because despite his statement, he hadn't actually worked out how he would sneak into the garage. If the man he had rented space from watched the news, he would know that Thorne was up to no good. Sometimes, however, a man could be persuaded with monetary incentives to remain impartial about a topic. Silence could be bought.

But he didn't exactly have any univs to bargain with.

"I could flirt with him like you taught me."

The thought of Cress watching him flirt with the redhead on the train made him smile. That memory seemed so long ago. "I'm not sure if you've had enough training," he said, winking down at her. His dizziness was still present, but it had improved throughout their walk.

"I'm sure," said Cress, and then something slipped into his pocket. He startled and looked down to see her hand pulling away. He let go of her momentarily to reach inside.

He pulled out a portscreen.

"You're giving me your port?"

"Nope," she said, revealing her own. "I stole it when we were leaving the train."

"You…?"

She shrugged. "He was busy watching you stumble over yourself and therefore too preoccupied to worry about the innocent girl accompanying him. I grabbed it from his open bag."

Thorne's eyebrows shot to his hairline. _Innocent girl._

"I still felt your hand in my pocket just now," was all he managed to say.

Cress smiled to herself, and Thorne redirected his attention back to the mall.

"Can we walk slower?" came Miguel's voice from behind him, but in response Thorne just walked faster, choosing to hold Cress's hand again.

When the garage was only a few paces in front of them, Thorne pulled Cress behind a small alcove near the entrance of a shop. Panting, both from walking fast and the lingering effects of his motion sickness, he waited with anticipation.

No one was coming in or out of the garage at the moment. If he timed it right, perhaps he could stroll in without anyone noticing him. Or maybe Cress could disable the cameras…

"I'm going in," said Cress, furrowing her brow in concentration.

"What?"

"I'm going to distract him so you can get away."

Miguel huffed. "Why are you always making bad decisions for this guy? You're staying here."

Cress lifted her chin. "Thorne is right. You're trying to boss me around again. If I want to have this adventure, I will."

She made to move, but Thorne caught her by the waist and pulled her back towards him. Her back collided with his stomach, but he didn't let her go. "I think Miguel might be right about this one, Cress. Why don't you disable the cameras instead while I sneak in?"

Cress turned her head around to face him. Thorne held on to her. "We both know you're not as smooth as you think, _Captain._ "

Thorne guffawed. "I got you out of the satellite without any problems."

"You're going to have enough trouble _flying_ the Rampion. Let me do this one thing."

He let the insult go for once. _Brave, stupid girl_ , was what he wanted to say, but instead he just said, "Fine. What's your plan?"

"No, no, no," said Miguel. "No plans! Nothing! Cress, we're leaving."

"Oh _shut up_ ," said Thorne, tightening his arms around Cress in a protective hug before realizing that he was, in fact, tightening his arms around Cress in a protective hug. He faltered momentarily.

" _Please_ , Cress," said Miguel, ignoring him. His voice lowered an octave. "Let Thorne go."

"Miguel." Thorne could feel Cress's heartbeat against her skin, pulsing quickly where he was holding on to her. "I'm not going to get caught. You have to stop trying to protect me all the time."

"Please, Cress," Miguel repeated, his voice barely audible. "Don't make me do this."

The hair on the back of Thorne's arms prickled at Miguel's words. His own heart began to race.

"Do what, Miguel?" said Cress, throwing up her hands. She brushed off Thorne's arms and put her hands on her hips. Her stare was not as intimidating as she probably hoped it was _. Innocent girl indeed._

"Thorne doesn't have to get involved in this, Cress," said Miguel. "If you want what's best for Thorne, you're going to let him go and come with me right now."

Thorne took a step in front of Cress instinctively, drawing up to his full height. Miguel's eyes narrowed, and Thorne could make out a sheen of sweat on his forehead, but he didn't think it had anything to do with motion sickness.

"What's going on, Miguel?" he asked, crossing his arms.

The movement was so quick that Thorne didn't have time to react. Miguel's gun was drawn at his side and pointed at Thorne's chest, the safety released in the blink of an eye.

Thorne had the desire to roll his eyes at the familiar predicament, but held up his hands in surrender instead. "What's going on, Miguel?" he repeated, slowly and carefully this time.

"Miguel," came Cress's scared voice, "what are you _doing_? Put the gun away! You're scaring me!"

"Get over here now, Cress, or I _will_ shoot Thorne this time. We're already in Paris so I have nothing to lose."

Miguel yanked on Cress's arm with his free one to pull her next to him. Cress grimaced in pain at the motion.

"You're going to come with me, Cress. Whether Thorne dies is up to you now."

"Can we clarify why Thorne has to die?" said Thorne.

But a tear leaked out of the corner of Cress's eye and ran down her cheek. Thorne's gut tightened with the same unease it always did when she cried. "Thorne didn't do anything, Miguel. I blackmailed _him_ , remember? Why are you still acting this way?"

"This has nothing to do with Thorne. He's just a casualty. Or rather, he will be, if you decide you're going to keep trying to go on _adventures_ with him."

Something clicked in Thorne's mind, far too late to make a difference. "You're working for her kidnappers, aren't you?"

Cress gasped, and then another tear spilled over cheek. Then another.

"I'm taking Cress back to Luna," said Miguel, twisting Cress closer to him. She didn't even put up a fight. "Mistress Sybil is in need of her services."

" _M-Mistress S-Sybil?"_ Cress choked out. "But you—you escaped! You came to Earth!"

"No, he didn't," said Thorne. "He's been working for them the whole time. Haven't you, Miguel?"

Miguel's hand trembled against the gun. "After the Shells rebelled against the Thaumaturges, I _did_ escape. But Sybil found me before I could leave Luna."

Cress sobbed, her shoulders heaving, making Miguel's eyes twitch nervously between the girl he was holding on to and the man he was keeping at bay with his gun. "But we're _friends_ , Miguel. You said I was like y-your y-y-younger s-sister."

"He lied," said Thorne simply.

"You left us, _Crescent_ , and never came back. Why would my loyalties lie with you? So you had to live on a satellite. Big deal. The rest of us Shells were put in _suspension tanks_ after the rebellion."

Cress's sobs were nearly uncontrollable.

"You needed to get Cress back to Paris," said Thorne, nodding, the pieces coming together. "Otherwise you would have killed me back on that hover."

"You think I wanted to waste my time getting you out of prison?" said Miguel. "But this girl is too _in love_ with you to leave you alone. I couldn't risk her escaping me once I'd killed you."

"So kill me," said Thorne. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"That's up to Cress now." Without taking his gaze off of Thorne's stone-like stature, he asked Cress, "Are you going to come peacefully or do I need to shoot Thorne and then drag you kicking and screaming anyway?"

"N-no," said Cress, clearly trying to compose herself. "I'll let Thorne go."

Miguel visibly relaxed. "There. Now that wasn't so hard now, was it?" To Thorne, he said, "I'm giving you ten minutes before I call the police. Cads like you belong in jail anyway."

Miguel flicked the gun slightly in the direction of the garage, making Thorne take a step back. Miguel was giving him permission to run away. He snuck one last look at Cress, who was still crying, but only quietly. Their eyes clashed, and her blue eyes once again reminded him of the ocean, this time tempestuous and wild.

He took another step back and nodded. "I'll just be going then."

"Good," said Miguel. "The less people that need to die, the better. Isn't that right, Cress?"

Thorne ducked and slammed into Miguel's stomach with all of his weight, tackling him to the ground. The gun went off at the same time. A blinding, white-hot pain ripped through his arm. There was a scream, but it could have been his own.

He wrestled with Miguel, unable to keep him pinned to the ground. Miguel flipped them to the side and managed to fire the gun again. It missed Thorne's ear by a hair.

With a grunt of pain, he shot his elbow out, hitting the hand with the gun and sending it flying. It clattered to the ground. Miguel scrambled to get away from Thorne, but Thorne grabbed hold of him, nearly ripping his injured arm out of his socket.

A foot kicked the gun away.

Miguel snarled and punched Thorne in the face. His head snapped back against the gravel. Black spots popped up in his vision as another punch hit him square in the gut. Then another and another.

The taste of blood filled Thorne's mouth.

He kicked his knee up blindly, but didn't connect with anything.

Then there was a howl of pain and Miguel's body weight collapsed onto Thorne's, taking away the little breath he had left. Just as quickly, the weight was gone.

Cress's scream chilled him to the bone.

He turned his head, trying to get up, and saw Cress was now on the ground, scrambling to get away from Miguel, the gun in one of her hands. She fired it, but he slapped her hand away in the same moment and the bullet made no impact.

"Stupid girl," said Miguel, trying to keep her from moving, but she flailed below him and kicked to no avail. "Stop struggling. I'm going to be pardoned by Her Majesty once I turn you in."

"No you won't!" Cress cried.

Thorne pushed himself to a standing position, but dizziness overtook him. He heaved twice and then hurled.

"Run, Cress," he said through deep breaths, trying to stop the spinning.

Then he threw himself at Miguel again. Though it was with less force than the first time, the movement managed to get Miguel off of Cress.

"Run," he said again, already taking another punch from Miguel, this time right where he'd been shot. He was sure his scream mirrored Cress's, but he used his uninjured arm to hold tightly onto Miguel's shirt. He would not let go. He would not let Miguel follow Cress.

It was not an easy promise.

With each consequent punch, he was sure his arm would fall off. His grip loosened, his mind beginning to slip out of consciousness. He felt Miguel get off him.

A shot rang out, along with another cry of pain.

Then, it was silent.

* * *

Cress panted, the gun trembling in her hand. Miguel lay on the ground next to Thorne. Both were motionless, both were bloody.

_Had she just killed Miguel?_

The horror of having shot someone filled every crevice of her being, making her knees wobbly.

It was then that she noticed a small crowd of people had surrounded them. _People recording them with their portscreens._

She tried to shake off her shock at what had just transpired and stepped over Miguel's body to get to Thorne. His eyes were closed but his breath still came, though shallow. With his beard, bruises, and blood, he was unrecognizable.

She shook him hard. "Thorne," she cried, "please wake up."

He groaned.

Cress laid the gun on the ground gingerly, eager to be rid of it. Gritting her teeth, she rolled his shirt sleeve up, revealing the wound where the bullet had hit. Another tear escaped her, from shock and worry, but she reached into his pocket and found her old headband. She made quick work of it, tying the material around his wound tightly. His blood seeped through it, dyeing her fingers.

"You have to get up, Thorne," she whispered in his ear. "We have to get out of here. People are watching."

Without waiting for him to respond, she pulled him into a sitting position. He fell against her like a rag doll initially, but with her encouragement, little by little he managed to get to his feet. Cress stooped to pick up the gun again. "O-out of the way!" she commanded, holding it up threateningly, but knew that her courage had been used up during the fight with Miguel.

Despite the tremble in her voice, the crowd parted.

With Thorne leaning heavily on her shoulder, it was nearly impossible to move forward, but move forward they did. "You're going to be fine," said Cress.

She said it more to herself than to Thorne. She had seen Thorne get shot, seen him attack Miguel, seen Miguel attack back. He definitely _wasn't_ fine. She had to get him to the Medbay.

Her own back was scraped bloody from trying to escape from underneath Miguel, and he hadn't even punched her.

Miguel had clearly wanted to keep her alive. He'd said he'd needed to get her to Paris—to bring her back to Luna.

Was Mistress Sybil in Paris? Was she coming to get her even now, while she limped to the garage with Thorne?

Cress made every attempt to get there faster, not willing to wait around and find out. Her face would be all over the newsfeeds within moments, if it wasn't already.


	24. Chapter 24

They couldn't move fast enough. Cress could sense people following her, could tell that they were trying to make sure the young blonde murderer didn't escape their sight.

Because that's what she was now.

"A murderer," she gasped, almost letting Thorne's weight overtake her.

She would be on the newsfeeds like _Thorne_. Only this was much, much worse than stealing a spaceship. They would see the way she'd shot Miguel and how she'd helped another fugitive escape. They might even think she was in on Thorne's plans all along.

But she was the one who had pulled the trigger.

People would discover who she was, and soon it wouldn't be just Sybil looking for her. If Sybil wasn't already on the scene. Who knew how Miguel was communicating with her?

Cress turned her head abruptly to glance over her shoulder. Thorne hissed as her hair whipped him in the face. But Cress ignored him, searching the crowd, the gun still in her hand.

Useless as she felt, she was still a Shell. She couldn't be controlled by Sybil or anyone else she sent after her. If she could just get in one good shot before someone got too close…

_She could kill Sybil._

She would not return to Luna, would not be locked up again.

An image of the other Shell children she had known in the lava tubes flashed in front of her. They floated in suspension, as Miguel had described. Helpless, lifeless.

Her grip tightened on the handgun. Sybil was not in the crowd. There were only people following them as she suspected, but at a distance. Afraid of getting too close—afraid of her.

"Cress," said Thorne, his voice low. He had his uninjured arm draped over her shoulder heavily, and his fingers squeezed against her bare skin. "Keep going."

Cress faced forward again, a renewed sense of determination filling her. She was a wanted criminal now, and she had to think like a wanted criminal. It wasn't a scenario that she particularly wanted to expend her imagination on, but she would do it.

She would run away with Thorne. He would teach her how to survive without getting caught. She would track all the newsfeeds, all the leads…and set them on a different trail. Away from her. And away from Thorne, before he left her alone forever.

If he didn't love her before, he certainly wouldn't love a murderer.

She sniffed, tears starting to well up in her eyes again. It was all too horrific. How had it gotten to this? She had killed Miguel and was willing to kill Sybil now too.

She had just wanted to be free.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her shoulders beginning to shake. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Two fingers pressed harder against her skin again. "It's a…flesh wound, Cress. I'm going to…be fine."

The sound of him trying to speak made her nearly trip with emotion. She tightened the iron-clad grip she had on his waist, on his shirt, on him, and urged her feet to keep going. She was a murderer, but she could still save Thorne. "You shouldn't speak," she said firmly. "You can barely breathe."

"Just got…beat up…bad. Normal. Give…me a few…minutes," he wheezed. "Or hours."

Cress glanced up at him, and she thought she saw a small smile over the painful grimace that was apparent through all of his facial hair. Another tear fell down her cheek, but this time, she thought maybe it was of slight hope that he would be okay.

The garage was so close to them now. Only a few feet away. A young man had emerged from the inside, his hands extended pleadingly in front of him. Cress was shocked for an instant, then she remembered her gun.

"Move," Thorne growled, and Cress was both surprised and thankful for the conviction in his voice.

"I don't want any trouble," said the young man. His eyes reflected the same fear that Cress felt inside her trembling body. She had the power here though—to threaten, to maim, to kill.

She pried Thorne's arm away from her. Making sure that he was steady on his feet before letting go completely, she pushed him gently in the direction of the Rampion, hidden behind the rows of spaceships parked on the other side. He halted, and, one hand still pressing against his wrapped bullet wound, he turned slowly back to her.

"Can you make it to the Rampion?" she asked him. "I'll make sure this…this gentleman…doesn't attack us."

"No," said Thorne. "Come."

Cress turned away from him. "I'm coming. You go first."

She didn't dare glance back again at him for fear she would lose her nerve. She needed the support as much as Thorne did—maybe not because she was badly injured like him, but she needed his dose of confidence. Taking a deep breath, she tried to channel his demeanor into hers.

"I won't hurt you, Sir," she said to the young man. "Please lock the garage behind us." He raised an unconvinced eyebrow at her. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of her face. "I—I won't ask you again." Then, raising her voice angrily, she said, " _Go_ , Thorne!"

She relaxed just a fraction when she heard the slow shuffling of feet behind her. Inhaling more steadily this time, Cress tried to jerk her gun the way the bad guys did in the dramas. _Move_ , she said with her weapon.

The man _moved._ And quickly!

Her delight was squashed when she remembered that the man moved because he was afraid of the young blonde that he had probably witnessed murder Miguel only a few minutes before.

He typed in a code on the digital pad near the entrance. A satisfying click sounded, and soon the faces of those in the crowd were pushing against the window panel to get a look inside.

Cress turned away from them. "Thank you."

The garage attendant grimaced. "My boss is going to kill me."

"At least you're not _really_ going to get killed," said Cress, then grimaced herself. She was a terrible person and a terrible criminal. "Um," she mumbled, "just…sit over there." She gave another bad-guy flick of her gun.

When he sat, she took a step closer. "Open the roof."

She flinched when he did exactly as he told her without hesitation. She had not heard how squeaky and metallic the gears of the roof were when her and Thorne had landed here initially. Now, she was positive she was alerting every authority in Paris that they were escaping.

When the sun was visible above her, she nodded. "G-good. Just…stay here. We'll transfer the fees to your account once we've left."

The man snorted in disbelief.

Cress inched away, moving backwards, trying to keep the gun trained on him and not fall over from anxiety and therefore accidentally shooting him. When she was convinced that she was far enough away, she turned and broke into a sprint.

It didn't take her long to catch up to Thorne. He was still moving forward, luckily, but not enough to make much of a dent in the distance. She scrunched herself underneath his arm and tried to propel them both forward at a faster pace, using up the last bursts of her adrenaline.

And then, a few ships later, there it was in all its glory, exactly as they'd left it.

_The Rampion._

Cress nearly burst into tears again at the sight of it. The last time she had set foot on the ship, it had been with anger and hatred towards its self-proclaimed Captain. She had been helpless, handcuffed, humiliated.

But now, she could not have been more excited and relieved to see the bulking, whale-like underbelly of the cargo ship. Even the surprise at seeing a painted silhouette of a naked lounging lady messily covering the American Republic emblem somehow made her roll her eyes happily.

It was so… _Thorne_.

"Captain is King!" Cress said to the ship.

She was sure that Thorne smiled at her this time. Even beneath his disgusting fake beard and thick eyebrows, the smile made her blush. She thrust the gun in his hand, shaking her own hands crazily, as if doing so could lessen the memory of ever holding a weapon.

She froze when a shadow covered the sun above them, and the hum of a hover's engine made her heartbeat quicken.

"Sybil!" she cried, reaching for Thorne. She retracted her hand as soon as she touched him, though. He needed his strength to get up the ramp, which was still lowering itself.

Way.

Too.

Slowly.

Cress slung Thorne's arm over her shoulders again and wobbled at the renewed pressure of his body weight. She had no adrenaline left. She could not do this.

"THIS IS THE PARIGIAN LAW ENFORCEMENT. DROP YOUR WEAPONS. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST."

Cress wasn't sure if the gasp that escaped her was from relief that Sybil wasn't here or if it came from the terror that radiated through her bones at the sound of the blaring loudspeaker from the hover.

Law enforcement.

Under arrest.

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS. YOU ARE UNDER—"

"Run!" yelled Thorne, pushing Cress away from him. She tripped forward at the sudden lightness of her body, hitting the dropping ramp with her stomach.

The wind knocked out of her, but she managed to move away from the ramp just seconds before it crushed her foot on its descent to connect with the ground. She clutched her stomach and tried to regain her composure. The ramp was down!

"CARSWELL THORNE, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST."

"Aces!" said Cress, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

The hover was directly above the Rampion now. A spotlight flicked on, illuminating Thorne's bloody figure. He remained still, not bothering to look up at the hover. His eyes remained fixed on Cress.

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST."

Thorne let the gun fall to the ground.

"No!" said Cress.

But she dared not move. The spotlight, though fixed on Thorne, kept her paralyzed next to the ramp. The officers in the hover had many weapons—all trained on Thorne.

She shot a desperate look at him. _What do we do?_

With a heavy sigh, he let go of the hand he kept over his wound. His fingers were coated in red; her headband had not stoppered the blood. His lips pressed together as he tried to raise both arms in surrender. Only one made it up halfway. _Go_ , he mouthed.

"No!" she cried again. "I'm not leaving you!"

He only nodded, but avoided her eyes.

"I can't…I can't fly!"

His eyes snapped back to her, pinning her in place more than her fear. "Auto-control," he said loudly. "You're smart. You can figure it—"

A rope fell between them. _Oh stars_ , the men in the hover were going to come down.

Cress took an instinctive step back.

Onto the ramp.

"That's it," said Thorne. His features were relaxed, and she thought maybe he was trying to be soothing, but the sound of the hover was too overpowering to be sure.

She glanced behind her at the Rampion, her gateway to freedom once again. Could she fly it? She was no pilot—had no training. She was good at technology, at controls. Her feet probably wouldn't even reach the pedals.

But if it was on auto-control…

She gulped. She would never be able to live with herself if she left Thorne here. Not when he was in this mess because of her. Not when she had come to love the reckless, scoundrel of a fugitive that she had once despised.

But if she escaped…maybe she could help him escape again!

She had already done it once.

If she stayed, there was no chance for either of them. Thorne, who was always one step ahead of the game, had probably already figured this out.

She turned back to him. He gave her a tight-lipped half-smile and then, a wink.

The sound of metal breaking in the garage from afar made both her and Thorne jump. The officers were inside from the ground now too. They had broken down the locked door.

She had hesitated too long.

A woman in police gear, gun at the ready, landed in front of them. Two more people in same black get-up slid down the rope behind her. One of them pointed a gun at Cress.

As Cress raised her hands to surrender too, a guttural roar ripped through the garage.

* * *

Thorne watched the armed officer recoil at the sound as much as he did. The hover humming not far above them was already loud enough to be distracting, but this…this sound was not from a machine. It had been animalistic.

A piercing, terrifying scream sounded from near the entrance, and then there was… _a howl_. A low, bone-chilling howl that echoed off the walls.

The woman and the man in front of him exchanged a look, their eyes wide beneath their over-sized black helmets. The officer who was facing Cress called out, "Dufort, Masson, go see what it is! I'll watch these two."

They exchanged another look, the man seeming to need confirmation from the woman, and then took off.

The hair on the back of Thorne's neck stood up at the thought of running at a wild animal. But he saw Cress's terrified look at the officer standing between them, and put on the best lazy face he could muster. "So, you gonna handcuff me or make me stand here bleeding all day?" he drawled.

It was not his finest drawl at all, and there was a little too much wheezing for his own liking, but the officer considered him, taking his time looking back and forth from Cress to Thorne.

The sound of bullets flying made him drop to the floor on instinct, but nothing hit him. He realized that they were coming from behind—where the two officers had run off to. New, sickening screams intermingled with roars and howls, making the officer rush to stand by Thorne's side, indecision and fear replacing his previous scowl. While he moved, Thorne slid his discarded gun between his knees.

He would need it for whatever was coming.

Cress, now left alone on the ramp, watched the two of them. _Go!_ he mouthed. Cress had to get on the ship.

But instead of running into the ship, Cress ran at him.

Thorne swore.

Cress jumped on the back of the officer, clinging to his neck and trying to do—

Who knew what she wanted to do? _Aces and spades and stars_ , this girl never did what he wanted! Thorne watched them struggling for just a second, heard the growling noises get closer, and hit the man as hard as he could in the knee with the butt of his gun.

The man went down.

So did Cress.

And so did Thorne, nearly crumpling to the ground with the pained effort he had exerted just for that movement. He was going to bleed out in his arm if he didn't stopper it up quickly.

"I've got it!" Cress screamed, and held up the officer's weapon. If he weren't trying to suppress a yell as he pushed himself back up to his knees, he would have laughed at the combined terror and delight that Cress had in her face whenever she held a gun.

_Innocent girl indeed._

Cress was behind him before he could finish the thought. She slid her arms under his elbows and tried to hoist him up.

"I've…I've got it," he said, even though he really didn't. Cress did not need to know that fact.

The man was getting up off the ground. "Freeze!" he said. "You are under arrest."

"Run, Thorne," Cress said, trying to get him up the ramp. They made it to the top when the man caught up with them and pulled on the back of Thorne's shirt, though, trying to stop him. "I have a gun!" said Cress desperately.

The man sneered and pulled Thorne in front of him.

"Use it," Thorne coughed, his shirt suffocating him.

But Cress was no longer focused on the two of them. "W-w-watch out!" she suddenly screamed, raising the officer's glock, which was much bigger than Thorne's small handgun. She pointed it over them.

A dark, snarling laugh made his skin tingle. He felt the officer's grip on his shirt loosen enough, and with an elbow to his side Thorne jerked away from him. But the man did nothing to stop him.

"We're here for the Shell," someone growled.

He saw Cress look like she would pass out, so he took a step up to her before he turned around. Then he flinched.

Two men stood mere meters away from them. But these men looked wild, with fangs and crazy hair and scars all over their bodies. Blood dribbled down their chins to their shirts.

Thorne raised his gun with his uninjured hand.

One of the men smiled, but in a way that seemed more like an animal considering its prey. "Master Jael is looking for you, sweetheart," he said in a raspy voice, staring at Cress with hungry, horrible eyes. He licked his lips, letting his tongue lap up some blood.

"M-Master Jael?" Cress whispered.

He wished Cress would shut up and raise her gun too, but she remained frozen at his side. Even the officer did not move. He didn't blame them. These men were so disgusting and terrifying at the same time that it was hard to look away.

"He'll be here shortly," said the same man. There was a slight sparkle in his brown eyes as he said the words. "You were supposed to get out in Orly. Tsk, tsk, tsk, trying to escape your fate?"

"I—" said Cress, and Thorne thought he heard her trying to gather all the courage she could as she spoke, "I don't know any Master Jael. You have the—the wrong Shell."

The fanged man picked at his fingernail. "Of course you do, sweetheart." Thorne decided that if they made it out of this alive he would never, ever call Cress _sweetheart_ again. "He's a friend of your Mistress."

"N-no," Cress said. The desperation in her voice was thick. "I won't go back."

"Don't worry, sweetheart, you don't have to go back to Luna at all. We've got a nice place all prepared for you here in Paris. The rest of the pack can't wait to meet you."

Thorne released the safety on his gun. "No one is going anywhere." He tried to keep his voice from sounding like he had just trekked across the Sahara.

"We've heard about you too," the man continued, not even fazed by Thorne's gun. "But we have no interest in keeping Earthens." He glanced at the man standing next to him and snickered. "At least not yet."

"Wynn, let's get on with it," said the other man. He was also bloody, but less thickly built, and had a sleazy, oily air about him.

Wynn growled. "Know your place, Omega."

"Where are my colleagues?" said the officer, startling Thorne.

The man pointed at his bloody shirt and smiled wider than before.

The officer stupidly took a step down and pointed to the hover that was still circling above them. Thorne figured that only the pilot was still up there. "You're—you're under arrest. There are more law enforcement personnel on their way. Under the authority of the—"

Wynn bared his fangs and attacked the officer. Cress screamed, Thorne shot, and the other man leaped up the ramp and attacked Thorne.

Thorne shot and shot and shot and shot. Teeth sank into his shoulder. Stars popped up in his vision. He would die from this beast of a man mauling him to death.

It stopped.

The man lay unmoving on top of him.

Then there was an ear-shattering howl, more screaming, the sound of gunfire, and finally, silence.

"Cress?" he whispered. He heard only heavy breathing. "Cress!" he said, trying to move. But he was too bloody, too weak, too pinned to the floor of his ship to move. "Cress! Are you…okay?" He coughed, and the taste of salt and rust filled his mouth.

The man on top of him shifted. Thorne nearly choked on his own blood. He wasn't dead at all.

"Captain!"

Thorne closed his eyes. It was _Cress_. She was okay. They were _both_ okay.

Her face appeared over the shoulder of the man, whose sharp teeth were still buried in his shoulder. "I can't—I can't move him! I'm not strong enough."

Thorne coughed again. "Close the…hatch…Cress."

"Okay." She squeaked and disappeared, and Thorne closed his eyes again.

He would figure out a way to help Cress get the man off of him. He would make it to the cockpit. He would walk her through take-off. She would do that thing where she made sure no one could track the Rampion.

They would get the aces out of here.

Then, and only then, would he tend to his wounds.


	25. Chapter 25

"Aces, Cress! _Ow_ ," said Thorne.

Cress ignored him, as she had every time he'd protested in the last half hour, and pressed the cloth into the torn flesh harder. The anti-septic liquid bit into him again, much like the man's teeth had in the same spot, and Thorne gritted his teeth to keep from crying out again. The pain killers were not taking effect fast enough.

He'd already let every curse known to mankind fly when he'd doused his arm in the stuff. And he had managed to stay fairly still while Cress had attempted to stitch and re-bandage his bullet wound, but that might have been because he'd somewhat regrettably fainted at the sight of the needle she'd found.

"You don't want this bite to get infected," said Cress.

"Forget infection. I don't want _rabie_ s! Those things were _not_ human."

Whatever they were, they were still lying dead by the locked hatch. Neither Cress nor Thorne had yet come up with a plan of how to dispose of their bodies. He supposed that, as the ship's Captain, that unhappy task would lie with him.

Now that they were out of immediate danger and hopefully not being followed, Cress had stopped panicking.

Mostly.

They had helped each other with take-off. Thorne tried to do what he could with his feet while he pressed his shirt—off his body and bunched together—into his bullet wound to work on stopping the bleeding. He dictated what Cress had to do with her hands, and along with the auto-control system, they got the Rampion into the air.

Neither of them said anything when they took part of the roof with them and then nearly careened into another police hover that arrived on the scene; they were both yelling too much.

The flight over Paris and into space had made Thorne believe he really _was_ the luckiest man alive.

Now Cress was all business, making him stay flat on the Medbay table while she tortured him with the medical supplies she'd found in the storage closet. He would have almost believed her act if it weren't for the way she blushed sometimes, looking at his bare torso, and the slight, never-ending tremble in her hands.

"It's enough to be concerned about a bullet wound, loss of blood, a broken rib, and possible internal bleeding," Cress continuing, not meeting his eyes. "We'll worry about infectious disease later."

Thorne watched her chew on her lip nervously as she worked. "It's not like I've never broken a rib before. And, believe it or not, I was once beat up when I was thirteen."

"I know," said Cress so matter-of-factly that he had to raise his eyebrow.

"Oh?"

Her cheeks reddened instantly. "I did some research on you. While deciding if you would be the best person to blackmail."

Thorne chuckled at the thought of what she must have found in his records.

"Don't laugh," she said. "You have to rest."

"The wind has already returned to my lungs, though."

Cress gave him a look, which quieted him, but also made the corner of his mouth turn up into a grin.

"I still can't believe the first thing you did was take off that beard," she said, shaking her head. She walked to the supply closet and grabbed some fresh gauze.

"What else was I supposed to do while you did your witchy magic on the ship?"

Cress rolled her eyes and begun cutting the gauze. "More to stop the bleeding. And it's not witchy magic. I'm a _Shell_. I don't have special powers."

Thorne grinned harder. "Has someone found us yet?"

"No," she said slowly.

"Then you cloaking our ship definitely counts as a special power. And, by the way, I did everything possible to stop the bleeding while we were taking off. If I was going to bleed out and die, it would have already happened by the time we got into space. It only took me two minutes to get the blasted thing off my face. Then I had another twenty minutes to sit here and take a bath in anti-septic."

"Maybe if you would have done that _before_ we took off—"

"And risk us getting captured again? Or more of those wolf men showing up? No way."

"But—"

"Cress." Thorne tried to sit up, but Cress's look kept him down.

When she had finished bandaging his shoulder too, she studied him intently. He knew that besides the parts of him that were now wrapped in white gauze, she was freaking out about all the bruises and cuts that were still visible. Her eyes snagged on his swollen lip, but then moved back to his arm.

"I think we should make you a sling," she said.

"Cress," Thorne tried again.

"Yes?" she said, looking away.

Thorne reached up and took her hand. "You're shaking."

Cress didn't say anything. She looked everywhere except at him.

With a grunt, Thorne sat up, and this time Cress didn't argue with him or try to keep him down. "Hey, look at me."

"I killed two people today," she whispered.

He let go of her hand, and something akin to a sob escaped her mouth. But he was already cupping her chin, tilting it up, forcing her to look at him. Her pretty blue eyes were wet again.

"You did what you had to do," he said. "You _saved_ us."

Cress began to cry in earnest.

Thorne's fingers threaded through her hair until they found the nape of her neck, and he pressed her to his chest. When the movement made him hiss, she jerked away as if she had burned him.

"I'm sorry," she said, sniffing. "I know that must hurt you."

Thorne pulled Cress back to him and held her there, making sure she put her cheek closer to his uninjured arm. He rested his chin against the top of her hair, still damp and wild from the day's events. "I think it hurts me more when you cry."

* * *

Telling Thorne everything about her childhood—her real childhood, not the one full of half-truths she'd told him before—had been like lifting a heavy weight off of her shoulders.

The nap she'd finally allowed herself after re-scrambling all the satellite signals while Thorne slept first hadn't hurt either.

Really, it had been more of a bargain she'd struck with him when he'd tried to make her rest first. Though the gesture was chivalrous, Cress figured it was more the pain killers talking. He'd probably taken one too many from the Medbay storage closet. Getting Thorne to stop moving around had been nearly impossible. She had kept her ground though, insisting that she would only rest if Thorne did so first.

She had allowed herself a long shower too, taking some salve with her to the bathroom and cringing as she tried to rub down her scraped up, raw back. Miguel had pushed her hard against the asphalt, to the point where even her dress had rips in it. Putting the salve on her own back was tiring and awkward, but it would have been more awkward to ask Thorne to do it for her.

It had been awkward enough to take care of him and try to keep her eyes from dropping to the contours of his body. Though bruised and cut, he was just as strong as when she'd first seen him without a shirt. And now, with the evidence of the day's events, though it hurt her to see him like that...

It was evidence that he was a hero. He'd never intended to be, and she'd told him many times that he certainly wasn't one, but now it was undeniable.

_He had put himself in harm's way for her. Stayed with her throughout the ordeal._

If that wasn't heroic, then she didn't know what was.

And now she had told him everything, except one thing.

Cress took a deep breath and let go of her last secret. "I did some research while I was on the Rampion the last time. While…" She bit her lip. "While you were sleeping."

Thorne made to cross his arms,groaned when he forgot that he couldn't with the makeshift sling she'd finally convinced him to put on, and dropped his hands back down to his sides. Her eyes went instinctively to his arm, but to her relief, the bandage stayed in place and no new blood appeared on the white gauze.

"You already told me you were doing research," he said. "You refused to share what you were researching, though."

Cress pulled on a strand of her hair. If she told him this, he would know just how selfish she really was. Just how much freedom had meant to her.

But he already knew all the other bad things she had done, and so far, he had forgiven her. He had even told her she'd been _justified_ in her actions.

And as she watched him sit there, wearing his Captain's pin again and looking semi-relaxed as he stared into the galaxy, Cress thought that he might just understand this too.

"Queen Levana is trying to infect Emperor Rikan with letumosis."

She watched Thorne's brow crinkle, but then he raised both his eyebrows in a disbelieving manner. "You're sure?"

Cress nodded. "I saw the plans. The letumosis outbreak at New Beijing Palace wasn't a coincidence. She planted Shells in the place who are infected with it."

Thorne sucked in a breath. "You mean…it's biological warfare?"

"And I didn't do anything to stop it," she said. "I didn't do _anything_. I wanted to get to Earth so badly that I let her infect people."

Thorne reached out and squeezed her hand. Her whole body tingled the same way it did when he'd held her hand in the Medbay. "You have to stop blaming yourself, Cress. What could you have done?"

"I could have told the Emperor."

"Last I heard, he wasn't exactly entertaining Lunars."

Cress stared out at the moon. Luna was closer to her than it had been since she'd left her satellite, but for once, she refused to be frightened by it. She could not return to Luna as a free citizen, but she could not go wherever she wanted on Earth anymore either. Not with the way the newsfeeds were playing the footage of her in Paris captured by the bystanders and labeling her as Thorne's "unknown accomplice."

"I have to go to him now. I have to tell him."

Thorne swiveled in his chair to face her. "Cress, you're no longer just a runaway Lunar. You're wanted. By both the Earthen Union _and_ Luna. And what if Sybil sends more of those fanged men? Who knows if they've got other special powers too."

"I know. But I can't sit around anymore and do nothing." And just like, that she decided. She could make up for some of the wrongs she'd committed along the way by helping the Earthen Union. It was all she could do after helping Mistress Sybil and Queen Levana plot against them for too long. And perhaps, if things went right, she could convince the Emperor to somehow help the other Shells. "I'm going to the Eastern Commonwealth."

"Hmm."

Thorne swiveled away again to face the never-ending view around them. Cress glanced down at his hand then, still holding hers. She knew it was wrong to hope, wrong to think that he was doing anything but trying to comfort her after a traumatic day. They were so different from each other, and too much had happened between them.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to entertain one last fantasy with him. If a goodbye was still as inevitable as it had always been, then she could at least use some of her newfound bravery for something that didn't involve killing.

With that in mind, she squeezed his hand a little tighter.

Thorne's throat clearing made her look up again.

"We should, uh, probably talk."

Cress nodded and dropped her hand from his. She wrung it around in her lap, the bravery apparently all used up.

"I'm not very good at this."

"Me neither," Cress mumbled.

She was surprised when Thorne laughed. "You're better than you think you are. And that's saying something, for a girl who's spent her life isolated from society."

Cress bit her lip, unsure of how to proceed. She counted the seconds, instead, telling herself that it would be over soon. He would tell her he didn't love her, and then he would drop her off in the Eastern Commonwealth, and then they would part ways.

Maybe he would at least ask her to comm him again sometime.

Maybe this time she would say yes.

"Your eyes make me crazy."

Her heart almost stopped.

"W-what?" she stuttered, daring to look up at Thorne when she couldn't think of anything else he could have said instead of what she'd heard. She found that though he was looking at her intently, but he didn't have that confident composure she was so used to. He was _squirming_ in his seat.

"I mean I like your eyes," he said, clearing his throat again.

"You…"

"Aces, Cress. Don't make me say it again. It's not just your eyes. I like _you_. But I don't know what to do about that."

Cress's heart had started beating again, too furiously, trying to escape her ribcage. Thorne liked her eyes. Thorne liked _her_.

"I didn't mean it when I took it back in the hotel. I was just angry and embarrassed because you weren't being nice." She said it all at once, and she hated that it made her vulnerable, but Thorne had tried to be vulnerable to. She owed him the truth.

"I tried to talk to you about it."

"I know. But I still have feelings for you, Thorne. I meant what I said on the hover."

"I thought as much. But it's not that simple."

"It could be."

He sighed. "Normally I'd just kiss you right now. I'd do whatever I felt like. But Cress, you…" He looked up at the ceiling as if it could give him answers. "You're _fifteen_."

Cress straightened in her chair, trying to look taller than she was. "I'm almost sixteen."

"And I'm almost twenty."

"But we _like_ each other. I don't care how old we are!"

He squirmed in his chair again. "I care, Cress. You've never even met other guys before."

"I've met Miguel!" she said indignantly, but as soon as she'd said it, she knew it was the worst example she could have given. When he cringed, she knew he was thinking the same thing. "You're right," she said dejectedly, hanging her head.

"Stars, please don't be sad, Cress," he said. His hand found his way to her lap, forcing her to stop wringing them when he latched on to her hand again. "We've been through a lot together. It's taken me a long time to come to the conclusion that I like you, and even longer to be able to admit it. After I learned that you were Lunar I thought I'd never want to see you again."

"I wish that I could take it all back."

He shook his head. "Right now I'm wishing that I could keep seeing you." He brought his face close to hers— _so_ close to hers. Letting go of her hand, he traced a pattern on her cheek and smiled. "I want to get to know you, Crescent Moon. Spend more time with you."

His eyes were so focused and so sincere and so blue that she was having trouble forming sentences. It was strange to want him this close to her, when before she had wanted him to stay as far away as possible. Now she was brimming with desire and nerves and elation.

Thorne was not telling her he wanted nothing to do with her. Not only did he like her, he wanted to spend more time with her.

"But I'm—" she whispered, "I'm going to the Eastern Commonwealth."

"So you said," he whispered back.

She gulped. "Are you—are you going to kiss me now?"

Thorne laughed and drew back just slightly. "Believe me, I want to. But I think it's better if we get to know each other for some time without the stress of lies and blackmail between us. You should get used to being on Earth, Cress. Get used to being around other people." He smiled sadly, then. "That is, once we get rid of our ID chips and create new identities again. Kissing should wait."

It was hard not to hide her disappointment. "Oh."

"I also kind of feel like I'm going to throw up."

Cress's eyes widened. "Let's get you back to bed! I told you that you shouldn't be up and about."

"And not give you the chance to fuss over me?" he said, his eyes twinkling. "I'll lay down when I feel like it. Until then, I'm exactly where I want to be." _With you_ , he seemed to add with his eyes.

The thought made her both happy and sad. "But I'm going to the Eastern Commonwealth," she repeated. Her heart told her that what Thorne was telling her was good, but she couldn't see how it could work out. Of course she wanted to get to know him. Of course she wanted to spend more time with him.

"You know, that was where I was originally planning to stay for a while before you made me come get you."

"But you're wanted there." Oh stars, why was she now trying to convince him not to go? What was wrong with her?

"You're wanted now too, remember? No matter where we go, it's going to be a problem."

"You could come talk to the Emperor with me."

Thorne laughed whole-heartedly, the one free shoulder shrugging upward. "Ow," he said, between breaths, trying to adjust the sling. "You never cease to amaze me, Cress. You really think an Emperor will entertain an audience with _me_?"

"No."

He laughed once more, shaking his head. "Stars, you're cute."

"I know I can find a way, Thorne, but think how much easier it'll be if you help me. You're a criminal _mastermind_." The expression almost made her giggle, but she managed to suppress it.

" _Now_ you're talking."

"But we'd need a plan. I can start thinking of ways to contact the Emperor. I used to track him all the time so I have all the ID numbers already memorized."

Thorne chuckled. "Okay, Miss Hacker. Time out. We have some time to think of a plan. We don't have to go to the Eastern Commonwealth _today_."

"Yes, we do. You need to see a doctor."

"I need a break. The Rampion is the safest place to be right now with your satellite skills."

She frowned, not sure if this was the best course of action. She really did want a break, and who knew what would happen once they landed, especially if they didn't have a plan in place to meet with Emperor Rikan. And Cress needed time to download all the files to her new port in order to show the evidence of what she was talking about.

Thorne was right about The Rampion being the safest place, unless her attention to detail had been thwarted by the sound of Thorne cursing and throwing things from the Medbay while she hacked.

She drummed her fingers along the dash. "Fine. We'll stay up here for just a bit until we figure out our plan. But if your injuries start looking worse, we're going down immediately, got it?"

"Got it. We can take the podship in a worst case scenario, but I'm not planning on leaving the Rampion."

She had figured as much. But she wondered, if he had to choose…

She let the thought slip away. Thorne was here with her now, and he was alive, and he had told her that he wanted to spend time with her.

"So you want to do this together?" she dared ask.

She counted five heartbeats before he answered. "Yes. I can't promise anything, with the Emperor or between us but"—he shifted again, leaning closer—"I think we should at least try. I mean, if you want. Let's see what unfolds."

It wasn't exactly everything she had hoped for, and it certainly wasn't what the net dramas looked like when two people were falling in love. But so far, the dramas had been completely deceiving about everything else on Earth too. Maybe giving it a try really was the best thing right now. They could be friends who liked each other, who wanted to see if things should develop between them.

She hoped it meant that she could stare at him whenever she wanted, though. She'd have to bring that up in another conversation sometime.

"I think that could be nice," she conceded.

His arm wrapped around her waist, giving her the closest thing possible to a hug under the circumstances. She didn't cry this time; she just let his closeness fill her with happiness. There was possibility now, and she could allow that possibility to shape her future.

"When we work on our plan," said Thorne after a bit, "I need you to do a thorough net search. The ship's diagnostics are telling me that we dented something during take-off. I'm guessing it happened when we hit the roof."

She nodded. "What should I search for? Specific parts in New Beijing?"

"No, the Rampion needs a delicate touch, so just any old replacement part won't do. I want the best possible care." He tapped the side of her waist lightly. "Cress, we are going to need a mechanic."


End file.
